PHYSICIANS 
••WIFE 


ILLUSTRATED 


^-J^^^J.^.A,^^^^ 


mm 


LTFORNTA  COLLEGE  OF  MEDICINE 


MAR  2  3  1977 

University  of  California,  Irvine 
Irvine,  California 


THE 

PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE 

u 

AND 

THE   THINGS   THAT   PERTAIN 
TO  HER  LIFE. 


ELLEN  M.   FIREBAUGH. 


Illustrated    with     pofty-pouf     Photo-Engpavings    oi 
Sketches    from     Llife. 


PHIT,ADEI,PIIIA,  NEW  YORK,  CHICAGO: 

THE  F.  A.  DAVIS  COMPANY,   PtT.LISIIERS. 

1000. 


O     X* 


COPYRIGHT,  1894, 

BY 
THE  F.  A.  DAVIS  COMPANY. 

[Registered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England.] 


Philadelphia,  Pa.,  U.S.A.: 

The  Medical  Bulletin  Printing-House, 

1916  Cherry  Street. 


RESPECTFULLY  AND  AFFECTIONATELY 

INSCRIBED 

TO 

Physicians'  Wives  in  General 


TO    THAT    ONE    IN    PARTICULAR    WHOSE    GRACIOUS    PEN 

HAS  DONE  so  MUCH  FOR  CHILDHOOD,  AND, 

THROUGH  CHILDHOOD,  FOR  ALL 

THE  WORLD- 


.  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT. 


TO  THE  READER. 

I  TRUST  I  am  not  without  that  modesty  becom 
ing  to  a  country  doctor's  wife,  and  so  it  may  he 
well  at  the  outset  to  offer  a  word  of  explanation 
as  to  how  the  present  volume  came-  into  existence. 

An  invitation  was  extended  to  me  last  year, 
by  the  ^Esculapian  Society  of  the  AVabash  Valley, 
to  read  a  paper  before  the  society  at  its  semi 
annual  meeting  in  October.  The  subject  assigned 
me  was  "  The  Physician's  Wife."  It  was  a  sub 
ject  with  which  I  was  quite  familiar,  and  the 
writing  of  the  paper  afforded  me  much  pleasure, 
though  the  pleasure  was  necessarily  lessened  by 

i.  w  9 

the  knowledge  that  many  things  that  might  be 
said,  and  ought  to  be  said,  must  be  omitted,  lest 
it  assume  an  interminable  length.  Without  a 
thought  that  it  would  ever  arrive  at  the  dignity 
of  print,  the  paper  was  read.  It  pleased  the  so 
ciety,  and  it  was  at  once  voted  that  it,  be  pub 
lished  in  pamphlet  form  for  distribution  among 

(v) 


VI  TO    THE    READER. 

its  members,  comprising,  I  believe,  about  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  physicians,  in  the  States 
of  Indiana  and  Illinois. 

The  pamphlet  was  duly  circulated,  and  many 
kind  and  generous  words  in  regard  to  it  came  to 
me  from  persons  both  in  the  profession  and  out 
of  it,  some  going  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  little 
pamphlet  should  wear  a  more  substantial  dress 
and  have  a  wider  circulation.  More  than  one 
voice  within  the  profession  said  the  subject  was 
worthy  of  a  more  extended  treatment,  and  urged 

V  \J 

me  to  write  farther  in  regard  to  it.  But,  being  a 
novice  in  literary  work,  I  thought  very  little 
about  the  matter  until,  by  chance,  I  came  across 
a  book  in  the  office  library  entitled  "  The  Phy 
sician  Himself  and  the  Things  that  Concern 
His  Reputation  and  Success,"  written  by  an  ele 
gant  and  scholarly  physician  of  Baltimore.  (I 
draw  my  inference  from  the  book  alone,  having 
no  personal  knowledge  of  the  author.) 

I  saw  that  it  was  a  large  volume,  and  that  it 
had  reached  at  that  time — 1889 — its  ninth  edi 
tion.  Then  the  thought  came,  Why  should  not 


TO    THE    READER.  Ml 

a  small  volume  on  "  The  Physician's  Wife  and 
the  Thing's  that  Pertain  to  Her  Life1'  iind  favor 
with  the  profession  to  the  extent  of  one  edition, 
at  leasf?  I  decided  then  and  there  to  make  the 
experiment — to  enlarge  the  original  paper  and 
launch  it  forth  upon  the  world. 

Then  I  took  the  big  hook  home  with  me,  and 
plunged  into  it  with  great  gusto.  I  had  read 
medical  hooks  before,  and  always,  as  I  read,  my 
thoughts  had  strayed  oft'  to  the  pious  old  gentle 
man  who  insisted  on  a  young  lady  friend  taking 
a  ponderous  religious  treatise  from  his  library 
home  with  her  to  read.  When  it  came  back  he 
found  this  verse  written  on  the  fly-leaf: — 

"  If  there  should  be  another  flood, 

For  refuge  hither  ily  ; 

Though  all  the  world  should  be  submerged, 
This  book  would  still  be  dry." 

But  this  book,  being  personal  rather  than 
technical,  held  my  attention  to  the  end,  and  was 
read  with  much  pleasure  and  profit  and — disap 
pointment. 

I  had  confidently  expected,  in  a  volume  of 


Vlll  TO    THE    READER. 

this  character,  to  find  some  allusion  to  the  phy 
sician's  u'ife  as  a  possible  factor  in  his  reputation 
and  success,  and  kept  out  a  watchful  eye  for  the 
good  things  the  author  would  say,  that  I  might 
make  a  note  of  them  and  quote  them  in  my  own 
little  volume,  knowing  that  a  volume  of  any 
kind  progresses  much  faster  and  with  less  mental 
strain  when  one  can  make  long  and  copious  quo 
tations  of  somebody  else's  ideas.  But  I  got  no 
help  from  the  good  doctor.  I  found  that  he  had 
simply  eliminated  from  his  equation  the  unknown 
quantity,  and  proceeded  to  quicker  work  without 
it.  (Men  often  make  short  work  of  dealing  with 
their  wives.)  A  lady,  not  a  physician's  wife, 
said  to  me  not  long  ago,  with  exquisite  candor, 
that  she  did  think  doctors  had  the  silliest  wives ! 
Possibly  the  Baltimore  physician  was  of  the  same 
opinion,  and  thought  the  less  said  about  us  the 
better.  But  perhaps  I  am  doing  the  doctor  in 
justice.  It  may  be  that  he  only  forgot  us  ;  that 
would  be  quite  natural.  Or,  it  may  be  that  he 
was  too  chivalrous  to  place  us  in  the  same  category 
with  tilings  that  pertain  to  the  physician's  repu- 


TO    THE    HEADER.  IX 

tation  and  success.  EC  that  as  it  may,  we  arc 
capable  of  forgiving  and  forgetting  him ;  and  I, 
for  one,  am  capable  of  the  greatest  admiration 
for  the  skillful  pen  .which  could  write  a  whole 
large  volume  on  the  physician  himself  and  make 
no  mention  of  his  wife,  knowing  that  my  own  pen, 
in  one  very  small  volume  upon  his  wife,  would 
have  been  hopelessly  stranded  could  it  not  have 
made  very  frequent  allusions  to  the  physician, 
too. 

That  the  little  book  has  much  of  the  first 
person  in  it  is  a  matter  of  sincere  regret  to  me, 
and  I  have  pondered  very  earnestly  over  the 
question  of  "how  to  keep  out  of  it";  but  the 
tear — that  must  always  beset  the  novice — lest 
I  should  not  be  able  to  find  a  publisher  made 
me  entirely  too  timid  to  cast  about  me  among 
physicians'  wives  for  material.  I  did  not  want 
to  be  known  among  my  friends  and  acquaint 
ances  as  the  woman  who  wrote  a  book  that 
could  not  find  a  publisher. 

I  have  eagerly  availed  myself  of  any  chance 
remark  or  of  any  incident  related  by  a  physician's 


X  TO    THE    READER. 

wife  in  regard  to  her  life,  and  I  have  brought 
from  my  memory  whatever  had  found  lodgment 
there  from  past  conversations  with  physicians 
and  their  wives.  In  other  instances  I  have 
drawn  upon  my  own  little  experiences,  believing 
that  they  bear  sufficient  resemblance  to  the  little 
experiences  of  physicians'  wives  in  general  to 
make  them  enjoyable. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  this  little 
volume  relates  especially  to  the  wives  of  country 
doctors, — I  believe  that  physicians  practicing  in 
towns  and  villages  are  so  designated  by  their  city 
brethren,  and  are  quite  willing  to  designate  them 
selves  so,  not  so  much  through  any  redundant 
modesty,  perhaps,  as  through  the  knowledge  that 
the  word  country  \\&s  reference  more  to  the  region 
than  to  the  doctor,  and  that  the  large  cities  are 
far  from  containing  all  the  best-educated  and  best- 
equipped  physicians. 

But  it  may  be  that  city  physicians  and  their 
wives  will  not  object  to  viewing  from  afar  their 
country  brethren  and  sisters,  and  getting  a  glimpse 
of  vicissitudes  of  which  their  own  experience  has 


TO    THE    READER.  XI 

taught  them  nothing.  And  it  may  also  he  that 
there  are  city  physicians  who  can  look  hack  to 
some  "  dim  islet  of  time  "  that  yet  remains  sunny 
in  their  remembrance,  when  youth  and  hope  and 
a  studious  mind  formed  the  largest  part  of  their 
capital  in  some  far-off  town  or  village.  And  they 
may  enjoy  in  retrospect  what  they  could  not  now 
enjoy  in  prospect. 

If  the  little  book  shall  afford  only  a  portion 
of  the  pleasure  to  those  who  read  it  that  it  lias 
given  me  to  write  it,  I  shall  not  have  written  in 

vain. 

E.  M.  F. 

ROBINSON,  ILL..  May  5,  1893. 


NOTE. — Since  writing  the  above  I  have  found 
that  the  author  alluded  to  did  say  one  honest  and 
straightforward  word  in  regard  to  the  me<l<llin<j 
wife  of  the  doctor,  for  which  I  wish  to  give  him 
credit,  and  which  I  most  heartily  indorse. 


AMI     I  1 1  I! 


THINGS    THAT    PERTAIN    TO    HER    LIFE. 


was  (lie  god  of  medicine.  We 
know  something  of  the  marvelous  powers  imputed 
to  him, — his  skill  in  healing-  the  most  desperate 
diseases,  and  even,  in  one  instance,  of  restoring 
the  dead  to  life.  Jupiter,  enraged  at  his  restoring 
to  life  one  who  had  been  torn  in  pieces  by  his 
own  horses,  killed  him  with  a  thunder-bolt;  but 
he  lived  on  in  the  hearts  of  the  people,  and  in  an 
old  Roman  city  they  erected  to  him  a  statue  made 
of  ivory  and  gold,  which  represented  the  god  as 
seated  on  a  throne  of  the  same  precious  materials; 
and  there,  at  his  most  famous  shrine,  every  five 
years,  games  were  celebrated  in  his  honor. 

In  all  the  honors   heaped   upon   JKsculapius 

0) 


2  THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 

and  in  all  the  praises  sung  to  his  name  his  wife, 
it  seems,  had  no  share.  Her  name  is  nowhere 
mentioned.  Perhaps  in  ancient  times,  as  in  the 
present,  the  mother  was  sometimes  in  eclipse, 
while  the  daughter  shone  forth  that  all  the  world 
might  see.  The  fame  of  the  daughter,  Hygeia, 
the  goddess  of  health,  has  come  down  through 
the  centuries.  Medicine  has  named  one  of  its 
departments  for  her,  and  hence  we  have  hygiene, 
the  science  of  the  preservation  of  health.  So  the 
daughter  is  held  in  great  esteem,  from  which  we 
may  hope,  perhaps,  that -some  day  the  science 
which  took  its  name  from  her  will  not  be  so 
much  disregarded  as  it  often  is  to-day.  But  the 
wife's  name  lies  in  eternal  shadow. 

Hippocrates  was  the  "  Father  of  Medicine." 
We  know  that  he  was  horn  in  the  fifth  century 
before  Christ,  that  he  came  of  a  family  of  priest- 
physicians,  inheriting  all  its  traditions  and  preju 
dices,  and  yet  was  the  first  to  cast  superstition 
aside  and  to  base  the  practice  of  medicine  on  the 
principles  of  inductive  philosophy.  But  we  may 
never  know  whether  or  not  he  had  a  wife  to  help 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  3 

him  in  his  good  work,  for  on  that  subject  history 
is  silent  as  the  grave. 

Galen,  the  most  celebrated  of  the  ancient 
medical  writers,  was  born  in  the  second  century 
after  Christ.  He  commenced  the  study  of  medi 
cine  when  but  a  mere  boy,  and  when  he  was  only 
about  30  years  old  went  to  Rome,  where  he 
healed  a  celebrated  philosopher  and  other  persons 
of  distinction,  and  soon,  by  his  learning  and  un 
paralleled  success  as  a  physician,  gained  for  him 
self  the  titles  of  "wonder-speaker"  and  "wonder 
worker,"  thereby  incurring  the  envy  and  the 
jealousy  of  his  fellow-practitioners.  (If  Galen 
had  lived  in  our  own  day,  and  had  permitted 
himself  to  be  called  by  any  such  title  as  the 
above,  instead  of  incurring  the  envy  and  the 
jealousy  of  his  professional  brethren,  he  would 
have  incurred  their  contempt  and  been  dubbed, 
in  all  probability,  a  charlatan.)  He  was  an  old 
man  when  he  died,  but  whether  or  not  he  died 
alone,  whether  or  not  a  wife's  hand  ministered  to 
his  last  wants,  it  is  not  given  Us  to  know. 

We  are  very  well  acquainted  with  St.  Luke, 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S   WIFE. 


the  "beloved  physician,"  through  his  gospel;  but 
we  know  very  little  in  regard  to  his  personal 
history,  and  nothing  whatever  in  regard  to  his 
wife.  Indeed,  the  wives  of 
those  far-off  centuries  seem  to 
have  made  but  little  impress 
on  their  own  or  succeeding 
times.  The  name  of  one  of 
them  has  come  down  to  us 
with  all  its  lustre  still  un- 
dimmed,  but  she  was  not  a 
physician's  wife ;  far  from  it. 
She  was  Xantippe,  wife  of  the 
great  philosopher  of  Athens. 
(And  Socrates  was  not  a  phy 
sician  ;  far  from  it.  "No  one," 
says  his  biographer,  "  ever 
knew  of  his  doing  or  saying 
anything  profane  or  unholy !") 
I  was  looking  into  our  Britannica  not  long 
ago, — that  treasure-house  of  everything  good 
which,  with  the  impartiality  of  history,  makes  no 
mention  of  men  or  women  until  after  they  are 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  5 

'lead.  I  wanted  to  see  if  there  were  any  yood 
points  of  Xantippc's  character  n corded.  To  my 
ama/emcnt  she  was  not  in  there  at  all  ! 

It  may  be  that  some  cynical  bachelor  doctor 
reading  these  lines  will  say  within  himself  that 
the  reason  I  did  not  find  her  there  is  that  she 
is  not  dead  yet.  But  the  genial  married  doctor 
will  remind  him  that  he  is  hardly  in  a  position 
to  draw  conclusions  of  that  kind,  and  that,  living 
or  dead,  she  was  not  and  is  not  a  physician's  Avife. 

Not  rinding  what  I  was  in  search  of,  and 
wishing  to  leave  no  leaf  unturned  to  know  the 
truth,  I  put  that  volume  up,  took  down  another, 
and  turned  to  Socrates ;  and  the  thought  came  to 
me,  as  I  turned  the  pages  meditatively,  that  per 
haps  Xantippe,  like  JEsculapius,  was  only  a  myth 
and  had  never  really  had  any  existence  at  all, 
except  in  the  imaginations  of  men, — a  very  pleas 
ing  but  very  fleeting  illusion;  for  when  I  found 
the  biography  of  the  great  philosopher,  which 
covers  nine  large  and  closely-printed  pages,  I 
also  found  two  lines  in  regard  to  his  wife.  It 
seems  to  me  that  therein  may  be  found  a  fair  and 


O  THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 

impartial  estimate  of  the  relative  importance  of 
the  two  in  the  world. 

The  simple  fact  is,  too  much  has  heen  made 
of  the  negative  virtues  of  Xantippe,  and  it  is  a 
sad  commentary  on  the  masculine  world  that  it  is 
so.  Perhaps  where  there  is  one  man  who  has 
devoted  some  time  to  the  study  and  comprehen 
sion  of  Socrates  and  the  philosophy  he  taught, 
there  are  a  hundred  men  who  know  something  in 
a  dim  way  of  the  shrewishness  of  his  wife. 

Thus  does  the  evil  that  men  and  women  do 
live  after  them ;  and  it  will  always  he  so,  because 
there  will  never  be  wanting  in  the  world  the 
spirit  that  perpetuates  and  keeps  it  alive, — unless, 
perchance,  our  bark  may  one  day,  in  its  cruisings 
upon  the  ocean  of  life,  touch  the  shores  of  another 
Utopia,  where  we  may  land  and  breathe  the 
breath  of  perfect  life.  But  this  is  a  slight  digres 
sion.  Let  us  return  to  the  physician's  wife. 

We  will  pass  over  fifteen  centuries  of  time, 
which  brings  us  to  the  latter  part  of  the  sixteenth 
century  and  to  the  great  name  of  William  Har 
vey,  the  discoverer  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood. 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  7 

It  is  said  that  the  literature  which  has  arisen  on 
this  great  discovery  would  fill  a  library. 

In  the  long  and  interesting  account  of  his  life 
we  come  across  the  brief  statement  that  he  mar 
ried,  in  his  youth,  the  daughter  of  a  doctor  who 
had  been  physician  to  Queen  Elizabeth. 

My  patient  search  was  at  last  rewarded :  I 
had  found  the  mention  of  a  physician's  wife ! 
Though  there  may  have  been  some  doubt  in  my 
mind  as  to  whether  it  was  the  daughter  herself 
or  her  father's  position  that  most  attracted  Har 
vey,  still  the  wife  was  mentioned,  which  w7as  of 
itself  very  encouraging. 

Nearly  two  centuries  later  we  come  to  another 
most  illustrious  name  in  the  medical  world,  and, 
indeed,  in  the  entire  world.  For  Edward  Jenner, 
the  immortal  discoverer  of  vaccination,  was  not 
for  a  country  or  an  age,  but  for  the  world  and 
for  all  time.  His  was  a  grandly  benevolent  life. 
His  biographer  says,  "  There  can  be  little  doubt 
that  he  would  never  have  had  the  perseverance 
to  carry  through  his  great  discovery  had  not  his 
earnest  benevolence  pressed  it  on  him  as  a  duty 


8  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

to  confer  ti  great  and  permanent  benefit  on  the 
whole  human  race." 

It  is  very  gratifying  to  read  of  such  a  phy 
sician  that  "in  1788  he  married  Catherine  Kings- 
cote,  a  union  destined  to  form  a  most  important 
element  in  his  happiness." 

So  pleased  was  I  to  find  so  long  and  so  sig 
nificant  a  sentence  in  regard  to  a  physician's  wife 
that  I  read  and  re-read  it  and  pondered  upon  it. 
Who  knows]  Perhaps  the  world  might  never 
have  heard  of  Edward  Jenner  had  it  not  been  for 
the  sweet  counsel  and  sympathy  of  a  wife  who 
believed  in  him  and  in  the  ultimate  success  of 
his  life-work  ! 

Reading  a  little  farther,  I  find  that  she  died 
in  1815,  and  that  he  felt  her  loss  very  acutely. 
It  was  the  signal  for  him  to  retire  from  public 
life.  He  never  again  left  his  native  to\vn  (for 
Jenner  was  a  country  doctor),  except  for  a  day  or 
two,  as  long  as  he  lived. 

It  was  worth  her  while  to  live  to  be  enshrined 
at  last  so  long  and  so  lovingly  within  a  great  and 
tender  heart. 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  9 

"NVe  see  from  the  instances  given,  which  need 
not  be  multiplied,  that  times  are  greatly  changed. 
Whereas  history  has  seen  fit  to  remain  forever 
silent  as  to  the  wives  of  those  physicians  who 
lived  and  died  centuries  ago,  yet,  as  we;  get  nearer 
to  our  own  times,  we  find  the  physician's  wile 
sometimes  mentioned,  and  occasionally  accorded 
very  honorable  mention.  And  now,  at  the  close 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  a  printed  record  of 
any  physician's  life,  he  he  eminent  or  obscure, 
would,  perhaps,  be  considered  incomplete  without 
some  reference  to  his  wife  and  family. 

It  is  the  knowledge  of  this  that  has  given  me 
courage  to  write  these  pages  without  feeling  over- 
presumptuous  in  so  doing.  For  most  physicians, 
like  most  6ther  men,  have  wives,  and  it  has  long 
seemed  to  me  that  their  position  in  the  world  is 
somewhat  unique. 

To  the  physician's  wife  who  looks  with  attent 
ive  eyes  on  the  little  portion  of  the  world  which 
is  her  allotted  sphere,  and  where  her  life  is  spent, 
many  things  must  present  themselves  to  which 
most  wives,  perhaps,  are  strangers;  and  while 


10  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

there  will  be,  of  course,  much  that  is  trivial  and 
commonplace  in  this  volume,  it  will  not  be  for 
gotten  that  our  lives  are  made  up,  for  the  most 
part,  of  trivial  and  commonplace  things.  Rarely 
do  the  grand  and  the  heroic  enter  into  the  life  of 
the  average  woman  of  these  average  times,  and 
still  more  rarely  does  the  world  know  of  it  when 
it  does  enter  therein. 

Perhaps  in  some  prairie  home,  as  humble  as 
that  of  the  peasant  father  of  Joan  of  Arc,  there 
lives  as  dauntless  a  spirit  which  hears  as  divine 
whisperings  as  those  which  fired  with  such  won 
drous  enthusiasm  the  glorious  Maid  of  France. 
But  the  time  and  opportunity  for  splendid  action 
came  to  this  Maid  of  Orleans  which  may  never 
come  to  the  brave  spirit  which  dwells  in  the  little 
home  on  the  prairie.  She  will  fight  her  battles, 
and  fight  them  bravely,  but  so  quietly  the  world 
will  not  herald  her  deeds.  That  is  the  difference. 


BUT,  standing  in  a  medical  library  the  other 
day  and  letting  my  eye  range  over  the  titles  on 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  11 

the  backs  of  the  volumes,  I  reflected  that  there 
is  not  a  physician's  wife  in  all  the  world  who  has 
not  one  great  advantage  over  Joan  of  Arc.  She 
never  learned  to  read  or  write,  while  the  doctor's 
wife  has  every  chance  to  hccome  deeply  and  won 
derfully  learned,  if  she  will  only  make  use  of  her 
chances.  For  in  the  doctor's  library,  to  which 
she  has  free  access,  are  tomes  and  tomes,  and 
in  these  tomes  are  polysyllables  unending  and 
unspeakably  great. 

And  when  some  brother-physician  comes 
down  to  dinner  or  tea,  and  the  two  doctors  get 
talking  together  about  some  case,  then 

"  Words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound 
Ania/e  the  wondering  rustics  ranged  around," — 

the  wondering  rustics,  of  course,  being  the  doctor's 
wife  and  his  sons  and  daughters. 

And  it  may  happen,  sometimes,  that  the  good 
wife  gets  deeply  interested  in  the  talk,  and  learns 
with  humility  the  names  of  many  of  the  parts  of 
which  these  mortal  frames  are  composed.  And 
she  may  take  down  some  of  the  big  books  and 


12  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

read  an  occasional  chapter  about  it  all.  Merely 
to  stand  and  gaze  upon  these  volumes  is  to  subdue 
her,  and  to  take  one  in  her  hand  and  read  in  it  is 
to  fill  her  soul  with  awe. 

Reader,  when  you  find  yourself  going  off  into 
your  accustomed  doze  on  Sunday  at  church,  do 
not  blame  the  sermon  or  the  atmosphere  or  any  of 
the  surroundings.  One  little  muscle  does  it  all, 
— the  orbicularis  palpebrarum.  It  simply  closes 
the  eyelid,  and  you  cannot  help  it. 

If  you  have  a  cornetist  in  your  church  you 
will  please  notice  the  action  of  a  certain  muscle 
in  the  side  of  his  face  as  he  blows  his  horn 
(presumably  his  own),  and  remember  it  is  the 
buccinator  muscle  that  expels  the  air  which  is 
transformed  into  musical  tones. 

The  buccinator  muscle  is  well  developed  in 
many  persons  besides  cornetists.  Especially  is  it 
developed  in  one  branch  of  the  medical  profession, 
— a  branch  that  receives  no  recognition  from  the 
profession,  but  much  from  an  easily-hoodwinked 
laity. 

It  may  not  be  hard  to  find  any  two  members 


14  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

of  your  cnoir  bearing  such  an  attitude  toward 
each  other  that  even  a  casual  observer  can  see 
that  it  would  please  each  of  them  to  take  a  por 
tion  of  the  other's  occipito-frontalis.  Or  if  not  so 
bad  as  that,  the  action  of  the  corrugator  supercilii 
can  at  least  be  frequently  traced.  The  young 
gentlemen  in  your  choir — yes,  in  all  the  world,  in 
all  ages  of  the  world — have  been  fascinated  and 
enthralled  by  one  particular  little  muscle  in  the 
feminine  face, — the  orbicularis  oris  ;  and  old  men 
oftentimes  are  not  exempt  from  admiration  of  the 
workings  of  that  same  muscle. 

And  now,  gentle  reader,  when  you  feel  a 
magnificent  scorn  and  contempt  for  things  or  per 
sons  on  this  mundane  sphere,  do  you  know  that 
one  little  muscle  expresses  it  all  and  does  it  very 
accurately'?  And  do  you  know  that  the  name 
of  that  little  muscle  is  the  levator  labii  superioris 
ala3qua3  nasi  I 

I  am  reminded  of  Dr.  Blimber  and  his  sister 
Cornelia  and  their  school,  where  poor  little  Paul 
Dombey  was  sent  to  improve  his  mind.  Cornelia 
Blimber  was  "  dry  and  sandy  from  digging  in  the 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  15 

graves  of  deceased  languages."  Their  pupils  were 
bright  enough  boys  when  they  began  their  instruc 
tion;  but  by  the  time  they  were  through,  all  of 
them  were  weak-minded  and  some  of  them  were 
idiots.  How  strange,  it  seems  to  me,  that  there 
are  not  more  idiotic  doctors  in  the  world  ! 

Yes ;  a  physician's  wife  learns  many,  many 
things. 

For  instance,  if  she  see  any  one  blush,  she 
is  able  to  account  for  it  from  a  physiological 
stand-point.  She  knows  that  a  nervous  impulse 
has  been  started  in  his  brain,  which  produces 
certain  changes  in  the  central  nervous  system, 
which  in  turn  have  an  effect  on  the  vasomotor 
fibres  of  the  cervical  sympathetic  nerve.  In  con 
sequence,  the  muscular  walls  of  the  arteries  of  the 
head  and  face  relax,  the  arteries  dilate,  and  the 
whole  region  becomes  red.  That  is  all  blushing 
is.  It  is  not  hard  to  do,  although  there  is  a  com 
mon  belief  that  doctors  do  not  do  it  easily ;  and 
since  their  wives  are  born  to  blush  unseen  and 
waste  their  sweetness  on  the  desert  air,  it  is  not 
really  of  much  use  for  them  to  blush  either.  At 


16  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

least,  not  for  themselves  ;  and  I  hope  the  time  will 
be  long  in  coming  when  they  will  be  called  upon 
to  blush  for  their  husbands. 

No;  rather  let  that  palsied  function  within 
the  doctor's  own  system  resume  its  old  and  in 
convenient  sway.  And  that  time  will  surely 
come  when  the  conditions  of  his  daily  life  are 
changed  and  softened.  If  such  incapacity  really 
exist,  it  is  not  the  doctor  who  is  responsible  for 
it  so  much  as  his  "  environments." 

One  more  item  catches  my  eye  just  as  I  start 
to  close  the  big  book, — Gray's  Anatomy.  It  is  to 
the  effect  that  when  old  age  comes  upon  us  our 
jaw-bone  is  found  to  be  greatly  reduced  in  size. 
One  doctor  sitting  near  was  questioned  as  to  the 
why  and  the  wherefore  of  this,  and  he  thought 
that  it  might  be  due  to  friction, — constant  "jaw 
ing,"  etc.  It  may  be  true,  but  I  cannot  help 
reflecting  aloud,  as  I  close  the  volume  and  restore 
it  to  its  place  upon  the  shelf,  that  I  shall  never  be 
in  a  position  to  verify  his  statement,  since  it  was 
the  masculine  jaw-bone  the  great  anatomist  had 
reference  to.  The  doctor  thought  I  had  a  queer 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  17 

way  of  reasoning ;  but  \vlicn  I  told  him  tlmt 
woman  was  not  specified  in  the  item,  and  that 
when  she  is  not  specified  man  is  always  under 
stood,  he  seemed  to  understand. 


PHYSICIANS'  wives  have  a  motto.  We  have 
adopted  it  not  from  choice,  but  from  necessity. 
It  is '•  Watch  and  wait."  The  physician's  wife, 
of  all  women,  understands  most  fully  what  it 
means  to  watch  and  wait.  No  one  outside  the 
profession  can  ever  know  how  many  breakfasts 
and  dinners  and  suppers  have  been  spoiled  in  the 
waiting.  No  one  except  the  doctor's  wife  or  her 
house-maid  can  ever  know  how  many  dishes  with 
their  contents  have  been  put  into  the  oven  to 
keep  warm  for  the  absent  one  who  did  not  conic. 

Then  it  often  happens  that,  since  meal-time1  is 
long  past  and  the  doctor  has  not  come,  the  wife 
makes  up  her  mind  that  he  has  dined  in  the 
country  again,  and  things  are  put  back  into  the 
cupboard.  When  they  have  had  time  to  get  as 
cold  as  they  can  well  gel.  he  comes.  And  so  it 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  19 

is  year  in  and  year  out.  The  doctor  gets  accus 
tomed  to  it,  his  wile  almost  gets  accustomed  to  it, 
and  life  goes  on.  Let  her  find  what  consolation 
she  can  in  the  assurance  of  the  old  poet  that  they 
also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait. 

The  doctor's  wife  should  often  drive  out  with 
her  husband  as  he  goes  on  his  business  trips  or 
on  his  errands  of  mercy  or  charity,  as  the  c;isc 
may  be.  It  is  good  for  her  to  leave  household 
cares  behind  her  once  in  awhile,  and  drive  through 
fresh  country  lanes  and  fragrant  woods.  For 
every  thoughtful  person  Nature  holds  her  ever 
lasting  charms,  and  more  frequent  communion 
with  her  would  make  broader-minded  and  bcticr 
women  of  us  all.  How  delightful  it  is  to  ^ct 
into  the  buggy  and  start  for  the  country  on  a  soft 
day  in  October, — lovely  October,  whose  blue  ha/e 
rests  so  tenderly  upon  the  distant  hills,  and  whose 
gorgeous  robe  is  spread  out  upon  the  forest  ! 
Perhaps  the  doctor  has  two  or  three  visits  to  make 
to-day,  and  his  wife  will  go  with  him,  feeling,  as 
they  drive  along  and  drink  in  deep  draughts  of 
the  delicious  air,  that  life  is  all  joy  and  beauty. 


20 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


Just  outside  the  town  her  eye  falls  upon  a 
clump  of  trees  far  off  to  the  right,  and  her 
thoughts  go  hack  in  loving  retro 
spection  to  days  long  gone  hy,  when 
she,  together  with  other  little  chil 
dren,  often  wandered  across  the  open 
prairie  to  these  same  trees  and 
^  "  looked  up  longingly  to  where 
the  wild-grape  clusters  shone, 
and  she  wonders  if  they  shine 
there  .still.  If  it  were  not  for 
the  intervening  fences  she  would 
ask  the  doctor  to  drive  over  there  and 
let  her  sit  for  one  brief  moment  in  the  old, 
familiar  spot.  But  the  fences  arc  there,  and  they 
drive  on.  And  now  they  are  crossing  a  brook, 
and  the  October  afternoon,  by  some  magical 
process,  is  transformed  into  a  June  morning.  A 
pair  of  small  and  dusty  shoes  are  sitting  on  the 
bank,  with  a  pair  of  small  and  dusty  stockings, 
turned  wrong  side  out,  beside  them, 
while  a  little  girl  stands  on  a  flat 
stone  in  the  brook  and  watches  with 


THK    PHYSICIANS    WIFE. 


21 


rapt  gaze  the  water  go  rippling  and  gurgling 
over  her  bare  feet,  and  heaven  lies  all  about  her  ! 
The  scene  changes,  and  the  little  girl,  grown 
somewhat  older  now,  sits,  in  the  sunshine  of  a 
Sabbath  morning,  on  the  bank  of  that  same 

brook,  with  another  girl 
beside    her    still     older 
than    herself,    and   they 
a  re  fishing!    But 


the  little  girl's  con 
science  is  not  at  ease, 
and  by  and  by  she  ventures  to  suggest  to  her 
companion  that  she  does  not  feel  quite  right 
about  fishing  on  Sunday,  and  that  she  never  had 
done  such  a  thing  before.  Her  companion  looks 
down  from  the  far  height  of  superior  years  and 


22  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

wisdom,  and  rejoins,  disdainfully,  "  Hull !  If 
you  don't  never  do  nothin'  worse  tlnm  fish  on 
Sunday  you'll  git  to  heaven,  shore." 

This  comforts  the  younger  one  a  little,  and 
she  fishes  away  in  silence.  But  soon  a  little 
uneasiness  manifests  itself  again,  which  her  com 
panion  is  not  slow  to  detect,  and  she  puts  a 
clincher  to  her  former  argument  hy  saying, 
"  Besides,  you  little  goose,  it  ain't  wicked  to 
fish  with  a  hent  pin,  because  you'll  not  ketch 
nuthin'." 

At  this  piece  of  logic,  which  much  older  and 
much  more  grammatical  people  have  found  good 
and  plausible,  the  doctor's  wife  laughs  aloud,  and 
the  doctor  turns  a  surprised  look  upon  her  and 
asks  her  what  she  sees.  She  answers  that  she 
has  only  been  seeing  some  pictures  that  "  hang 
on  memory's  wall,"  and  which  had  long  been 
forgotten  till  the  brook  placed  them  once  more 
within  her  mental  vision. 

They  drive  on,  and  after  awhile  the  doctor 
points  with  his  whip  to  a  little  house  across  the 
fields,  and  says,  "  There  is  the  place  where  I  am 


THE  PHYSICIANS  WIFK.  *jy 

going  " ;  then  adds,  after  a  moment  of  silence, 
k- 1  hope  the  clover-huller  will  be  there  to-day." 

'•  Clover-huller  ?  Why  do  you  hope  such  a 
thin^  as  that?" 

"  Oh,  nothing ;  only  I'd  like  you  to  see  how 
it  works." 

Now,  the  doctor  knows  that  his  wife  has  no 
liking  for  nor  comprehension  of  machines  of  any 
kind,  and  hence  his  words  mystify  her  not  a  little. 
She  turns  them  over  in  her  mind,  but  before  she 
can  fathom  their  meaning  and  intent  they  are  at 
their  destination.  The  doctor  alights,  but  his 
wife  chooses  to  sit  in  the  buggy  in  the  sunshine, 
since  she  knows  no  one  within.  He  goes  in  at 
the  gate,  and  the  dog  goes  growling  off  around 
the  house.  lie  has  met  the  doctor  before,  and 
realizes  very  fully  this  time  that  discretion  is  the 
better  part  of  valor.  The  lady  can  hear  from 
where  she  sits  a  mighty  scurrying  inside,  as  of 
children  being  hastily  ejected  into  the  kitchen  or 
some  other  apartment,  and  of  chairs  being  pushed 
or  jerked  to  their  proper  places.  The  doctor 
pauses  at  the  open  door  and  knocks  lightly,  and 


24  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

a  very  tall  woman,  in  a  very  long  and  very  blue 
apron,  bids  him  ''jist  come  on  in." 

Presently  the  wife  is  conscious  that  a  battery 
of  eyes  is  being-  leveled  upon  her.  The  heads  of 
the  smallest  children  fill  up  the  panes  of  glass  in 
the  little  window,  while  the  heads  of  the  larger 
ones  fill  the  upper  panes.  The  baby  belongs  in 
the  upper  row,  since  it  is  held  up  by  one  of  the 
larger  girls,  and  simultaneously  they  gaze  at  the 
unwonted  spectacle.  The  lady  in  the  carriage  is 
in  nowise  disconcerted, — she  is  not  even  greatly 
amused ;  she  knows  that  children  living  in  the 
country  do  not  see  so  many  strangers  as  those 
living  in  the  towns,  and  that  it  is  a  natural 
curiosity  and  interest  they  are  manifesting;  it  is 
all  right  if  they  want  to  look  at  her,  only  she 
would  like  them  to  come  out  to  the  gate  so  she 
could  talk  to  them.  Her  eyes  rest  for  a  moment 
upon  the  woods  off  to  the  east,  so  lovely  in  the 
autumn  stillness,  and  then  they  fall  upon  a 
machine,  resembling  somewhat  a  threshing- 
machine,  standing  idle  in  the  lot  near  by.  This 
must  be  the  clover-huller ;  but,  since  it  is  not  at 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


25 


work  to-day,  she  will  not  get  to  see  how  it  works, 
as  the  doctor  wished  her  to  do.  Then  she  won 
ders  if  the  doctor  is  not  about 
through  with  his  call. 

Suddenly  the  air  is  cleft  by  a 
contemptuous  snort,  and  a  woman's 
voice  from  the  house  swells  out 
upon  the  stillness:  "  I've  seed  doctors 
before  I  ever  seed  yon  ;  and  I've 
done  a  heap  o'  docterin'  myself,  I'll 
let  ye  know  that !  I've  buried  three 
husbands  and-  six  children,  an'  I 
doctered  'em  all  myself!  " 

Then  does  a  great  light  break  in  upon  the 
mind  of  the  doctor's  wife,  and  she  knows  now 
that  the  clover-huller  is  not  only  there,  but  is 
at  work. 

After  a  little  the  doctor  comes  out,  with 
a  very  broad  smile  illuminating  his  counte 
nance,  unties  the  horses,  takes  his  seat,  and 
they  drive  on. 

"Do  you  encounter  many  clover-hullers  in 
\our  rounds'?"  asks  the  wife. 


26  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

The  doctor  laughs  heartily,  and  says,  "  Not 
many.  This  one  is  an  officious  old  woman  of 
the  neighborhood,  who  has  a  contempt  for  doc 
tors  in  general  and  me  in  particular.  When 
ever  I  want  to  I  can  '  rile  '  her  from  the  top 
of  her  head  to  the  tips  of  her  toes,  and  I  want 
to  pretty  often.  It  is  lots  of  fun  to  hear  her 
when  she  gets  a  good  start." 

A  drive  of  about  two 
miles  brings  them  to  a  large, 
comfortable  -  looking  farm 
house,  where  they  stop.  It 
is  growing  a  little  chilly  now, 
and,  as  the  doctor's  wife  is  acquainted  here,  she 
goes  in  with  her  husband.  Everything  is  so 
clean  and  sweet  and  home-like.  The  good  wife 
and  her  daughters,  and  the  benevolent  old  farmer 
too,  tell  her  they  are  glad  she  came.  She  knows 
they  speak  in  no  conventional  spirit,  but  simply 
because  they  are  glad;  and  she  is  glad  she  came, 
too.  The  doctor  has  gone  into  an  adjoining 
room  to  look  after  the  patient  with  a  broken 
limb,  and  she  chats  with  the  family  until  he 


'28  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

comes  back.  When  he  comes  out  he  tells  them 
the  limh  is  doing  nicely,  gets  off  a  joke  at  the 
expense  of  the  tall  boy  leaning  against  the 
mantel-piece,  which  causes  him  to  shift  from  one 
loot  to  the  other,  and  look  a  little  embarrassed 
and  the  least  bit  resentful.  Then  the  doctor 
spreads  his  hands  before  the  cheerful  blaze  on 
the  hearth,  and  says,  "Well,  we  must  be  going." 
The  busy  physician  finds  little  time  to  loiter  or 
to  linger. 

They  start  homeward.  The  sun  has  been 
shorn  of  his  rays  now,  and  a  big  red  ball  hangs 
low  in  the  west,  more  and  more  encroached 
upon  by  a  purplish-gray  bank  hardly  definable 
through  the  haze,  until  finally  the  red  ball  is 
swallowed  up  altogether.  The  gorgeous  coloring 
of  every  way-side  tree  and  bush  is  toned  down  by 
the  fast-comin<>;  twilight.  Soon  the  stars  come 

O  O 

twinkling  out  from  their  azure  depths,  and,  as 
the  eyes  and  the  thoughts  of  the  doctor's  wife  go 
wandering  up  into  illimitable  space,  she  makes 
her  own  the  soliloquy  of  the  shepherd-king  of 
old :  "  When  I  consider  thy  heavens  the  work 


30  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

of  thy  fingers,  the  moon  and  the  stars  which 
tliou  hast  ordained  ;  what  is  man  that  thou  art 
mindful  of  him  1 "  What,  indeed  ! 

The  horses'  hoofs  ring-  out  with  every  quick 
stroke  upon  the  highway ;  the  fences  fly  behind 
them,  by  and  by  the  lights  of  the  town  twinkle 
cheerily  ahead,  and  the  bells  in  the  steeples  are 
sounding  their  call  to  prayer. 

They  stop  at  their  own  door.  And  so  ends 
one  of  many  drives,  and  the  doctor's  wife  is  con 
scious  that  she  is  the  better  for  it.  She  has  been 
lifted  up  from  the  petty  annoyances  and  distrac 
tions  which  are  so  often  hers  to  serene  heights 
where  the  soul  loves  to  rest. 

Doctor,  when  the  weather  is  fine  and  the 
roads  are  good,  do  not  wait  for  your  wife  to  ask 
you  now  and  then  if  you  are  going  to  the  country 
to-day,  and  if  it  would  be  agreeable  to  you  for 
her  to  accompany  you.  While  you  may  answer 
'•'  yes  "  with  alacrity,  it  will  still  not  be  quite  so 
pleasant  to  her  as  if  the  suggestion  had  come 
from  you.  You  have  learned,  of  course,  in  your 
daily  life,  that 


THK  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  31 

"  Contentment  is  a  richer  gem 
Than  sparkles  in  a  diadem"; 

and   you    want    lier   to   know   and    feel    it,   too. 
Then,  be  assured  that  verv  little  things  like  this 

* 

go  far  toward  teaching  her  the  lesson. 

It  may  well  be  that  there  is  a  physician's 
wife  occasionally,  especially  if  she  be  living  in 
one  of  the  smaller  towns,  who,  thinking  of  the 
waiting,  and  the  irregularities,  and  the  annoy 
ances  to  which  her  household  is  subjected,  gets 
to  feeling  a  little  restless, — that  her  lot  in  life  is 
circumscribed, — and,  like  Maud  Muller,  to  long 
ing  for  something  better  than  she  has  known. 
But  it  may  be,  also, — and  this  I  would  have  her 
remember  well, — that,  somewhere  in  the  future, 
there  awaits  her  a  wider  horizon,  bringing  with 
it  care,  and  responsibility,  and  trouble  which  the 
old.  quiet  life  never  knew  ;  when  her  thoughts 
will  fly  back  to  the  little  home,  with  all  its  little 
trials,  as  to  a  harbor  safe  and  sweet.  And  she, 
too,  will  awaken  to  the  knowledge — as  vcrv 

^ 

many  have  done  before  her — that  ambition   may 
oftentimes  prove  to  be  a  glorious  cheat. 


32  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

There  is  a  story  of  English  provincial  life 
which  every  physician,  especially  every  young 
physician,  and  his  wife  should  read  together, — 
not  superficially,  as  too  many  of  our  best  stories 
are  read,  but  very  carefully.  Not  he  who  runs 
may  read  George  Eliot  profitably,  but  he  who 
gives  to  her  his  most  earnest  attention.  Most 
physicians  and  their  wives  have,  doubtless,  read 
"  Middlemarch."  Read  it  again.  Mark  the 
keen  and  fine  analysis  of  the  widely- different 
motives  which  actuate  the  lives  of  the  ambitious 
young  doctor  and  his  ambitious  young  wile. 
Perhaps  the  ugly  rock  upon  which  their  bark 
almost  went  down  may  be  waiting  to  rear  its 
head  for  you  somewhere  along  the  stream  of 
your  two  blended  lives.  It  is  a  powerful  and 
pathetic  picture  which  may  find  a  parallel  in 
many  real  lives.  But.  while  our  sympathies  must 
be  largely  with  Lydgate  in  his  loftier  and  nobler 
ambition,  we  must,  like  the  author,  and  like 
Lydgate,  feel  some  sympathy  with  and  pity  for 
Rosamond,  too, — the  pity  that  one  may  always 
feel  for  a  wrong  and  misguided  life,  which 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  J33 

cannot  recognize  its  own  best  happiness  until 
that  happiness  lias  fled.  Her  ambitions  were 
the  best  her  nature  was  capable  of;  they  seemed 
good  and  praiseworthy  to  her,  and  they,  too, 
were  shattered. 

To  me  there  is  nothing  in  all  fiction  more 
pathetic  than  this :  "  Poor  Rosamond's  vagrant 
fancy  had  come  back  terribly  scourged — meek 
enough  to  nestle  under  the  old,  despised  shelter. 
And  the  shelter  was  still  there :  Lydgate  had 
accepted  his  narrowed  lot  with  sad  resignation. 
He  had  chosen  this  fragile  creature,  and  had 
taken  the  burden  of  her  life  upon  his  arms.  He 
must  walk  as  he  could,  carrying  that  burden 
pitifully."  No  husband  and  wife  can  live  a 
happy  and  successful  life  when  they  have  strongly- 
opposing  hopes  and  ambitions.  Then  let  us  be 
one  with  our  husbands  in  all  their  aspirations 
when  we  know  them  to  be  laudable,  that  the 
time  may  never  come  when  we  shall  have  to 
realize  that  they  are  carrying  tlic  burden  of  our 
lives  upon  them,  though  it  should  be  carried 
ever  so  tenderly  and  pityingly. 

3 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S   WIFE. 


NIGHT  at  the  doctor's  house  is  different  from 
what  it  is  at  other  people's  houses.  Other  peo 
ple  can  retire  and  sleep  in  undisturbed  repose,  if 
their  consciences  are  clear,  while  at  the  doctor's 
they  never  know  what  an  hour  may  bring  forth. 

Here  is  a  night  at  a 
busy  doctor's  in  a  busy 
season : — 

The  doctor,  who  has 
just  returned  from  a  long 
trip  to  the  country,  sits 
chatting  with  his  wife,  glad 
that  work  is  ended  and 
that  he  can  retire  to  rest. 

A   knock  at  the  door. 
He  goes  a  little  impatiently 
to  open  it.     A  voice  from 
the  darkness  says, — 

"  I  want  some  medicine  for  my  girl." 
"Who  are  your' 

Then  does  the  voice  grow  big  with  astonish 
ment  and  perhaps  a  little  indignation.  The 
owner  of  the  voice  steps  a  little  nearer  to  the 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  35 

light  and  says,  "Great  God!  Don't  you  know 
me  ?" 

The  heart  of  the  doctor's  wile  sinks  within 
her.  Her  husband  has  made  a  mistake ;  he  lias 
failed  to  recognize  somebody  of  importance  who 
ought  to  have  been  recognized,  and  who  evi 
dently  knows  it.  Some  other  doctor  will  do  his 
practice  in  the  future, — so  deeply  into  a  man's 
vanity  can  a  little  thing  like  that  cut. 

The  man  has  stepped  still  farther  forward 
now,  and  she  sees  the  doctor  calmly  look  him 
in  the  face  and  answer,  curtly,  "  No,  I  don't 
know  you." 

The  wife  breathes  more  easily  now,  and  an 
explanatory  and  even  meek  voice  says, — 

"  W'y,  I'm  Josh  Boyles." 

"\Vhere  do  you  live"?" 

"Way  down  in  the  other  end  of  town." 

"  AVliat  is  the  matter  with  the  girl, — how  is 
she  sick  V 

"Well,  she's  got  a  pain  in  her  stummick." 

"What's  she  been  eating?" 

"  W'y — I  dunno — bread — an'  m'lasses — I 
guess  that's  about  all." 


36  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

The  doctor  believes  in  the  efficacy  of  medi 
cine,  of  course,  and  gives  it  to  him, — it  is  of  no 
use  to  charge  for  it;  but  he  believes  also  in 
the  efficacy  of  some  other  tilings  that  it  is  not 
his  province  to  prescribe,  and  which  it  would 
be  wholly  useless  to  prescribe  if  it  were.  For 
the  butcher  and  the  baker  and  the  candlestick- 
maker  do  not  dispense  their  wares  gratuitously ; 
and  Josh  Boyles  would,  perhaps,  never  dream  of 
asking  a  thing  of  them  which  he  asks  of  the 
doctor  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Josh  Boyles  goes  away,  and  an  hour  or  two 
later,  when  the  doctor  and  his  wife  are  wrapped 
in  slumber,  there  comes  a  knock  at  the  door 
which  brings  the  wife  at  one  bound  to  the  middle 
of  the  room,  with  her  heart  palpitating  in  her 
throat  and  a  dire  fear  in  her  mind  that  some 
risen  Hercules  or  some  avenging  Nemesis  has 
descended  upon  the  little  house  and  its  inmates 
to  annihilate  them  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
The  doctor  is  wide  awake,  too,  and,  hastily 
putting  on  one  or  two  garments,  goes  boldly 
forth  to  meet  the  invading  foe.  He  opens  the 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  37 

door  and  finds — a  timid  maiden  standing  there. 
She  had  run  a  quarter  of  a  mile  through  the 
darkness,  and  her  fear  and  breathlessness  and 
anxiety  for  the  patient — who  was  "having  a  fit" 
— had  nerved  her  arm  to  give  a  knock  which 
will  echo  through  the  corridors  of  time, — at 
least,  the  doctor's  wife  hears  it  echoing  still,  and 
a  good  many  years  have  gc.ie  by  since  that 
night.  The  maiden  herself  was,  perhaps,  never 
conscious  of  the  mighty  power  she  had  put  into 
it,  unless  her  knuckles  may  have  given  her  an 
inkling  of  it  afterward. 

But  the  doctor  dresses  and  goes  forth  into  the 
night ;  the  wife  drops  into  a  short  sleep,  from 
which  she  is  awakened  a  half-hour  later  by  the 
doctor's  return.  The  light  is  soon  extinguished, 
and  all  is  still  and  sleep  comes  once  more. 

It  is  not  long,  or  it  does  not  seem  long,  until 
the  wife,  who  is  not  sleeping  very  profoundly, 
hears  footsteps  on  the  walk  and  then  a  knock. 
She  awakens  her  husband,  who  goes  with  a  sigh 
toward  the  door.  The  next  instant  the  sigh  gives 
place  to  an  exclamation  which,  if  not  profane,  is 


38 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


something  very  near  it.  The  wile  smothers  a 
laugh,  for  she  knows  that  she  is  always  careful  to 
set  the  chairs  back  so  that  the  coast  will  be  clear 
between  the  bed  and  the  door;  and  hence  he  will 
have  to  lay  the  blame  upon  himself  for  setting 
that  chair  out  when  he  came  in,  an  hour  or  two 
before.  He  reaches  the  door,  and,  not  knowing 
the  nature  or  condition  of  the  caller,  curbs  his 
anger  as  best  he  may  and  asks,  in  a  kind  of 
neutral  and  uncertain  voice,  "  What  is  it  1  "  A 
voice  responds,  "  Why,  Doc.,  I  wish  you'd  come 
down  and  see  my  wife  as  quick  as  you  can." 

The  doctor  knows  now  who  is  there,  and  his 
voice  is  no  longer  uncertain.     His  wrath      / 
is    augmented    by  the  fact    that   it 
has  been  curbed  needlessly. 

"  The  devil  to  it !    And  what's 
the   matter  with    her  now'?" 

"W'y,  she's  got  a  pain  in 
her  side  and  she's  a-swellin' 
up." 

"  Yes,  she's  swelling  up" 

This  emphatic  and  quite 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  39 

unusual  acquiescence  in  his  diagnosis  of  the  case 
seems  to  pn/zle  the  man  in  outer  darkness.  His 
inner  darkness  prevents  his  recognition  of  so  fine 
and  subtle  a  tiling-  as  sarcasm,  especially  as  it 
proceeds  from  a  hitherto  good-natured  doctor. 
So,  after  an  -instant  of  silence,  he  says,  "Yes — 
she — seems  to  he  swellin'  a  right  smart." 

The  doctor,  who  has  a  pretty  clear  idea  as  to 
how  much  she  is  likely  to  be  "  swelling''  tells  the 
man  to  go  home  and  put  a  mustard  draft  upon 
her,  and  that  he  will  be  down  early  in  the 
morning ;  then  closes  the  door  and  gropes  his 
way  to  bed,  saying,  as  he  comes,  "  Poor  devils 
that  haven't  got  anything,  that  don't  know  any 
thing,  and  that  you  can't  teach  anything  are 
the  kind  that  come  to  wake  a  fellow  up  from 
his  sleep." 

"  Yes,"  says  his  wife,  "  this  is  the  third  charity 
call  to-night;  but,  all  the  same,  I  know  you  were 
glad,  for  once  in  your  life,  that  this  was  a  charity 
call." 

"  How  do  you  happen  to  know  that1?  " 

"  I  happen  to  know  that  a  man  has  a  longing 


40  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

to  express  himself  when  he  lias  just  stubbed  his 
toes  unmercifully." 

The  doctor  laughs,  but  makes  no  denial,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  is  snoring'  away  as  peacefully  as 
though  his  sleep  had  not  been  interrupted.  Not 
so  the  wife.  She  cannot  get  to  sleep  this  time, 
and,  if  she  could,  is  afraid  some  one  will  come 
and  arouse  her  again,  in  which  case  she  will  not 
sleep  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  So  she  lies  awake 
and  thinks  her  own  thoughts  while  silence 
"  broods  like  a  gentle  spirit  o'er  the  still  and 
pulseless  world."  It  is  past  midnight,  and  the 
cocks  have  been  proclaiming  the  "  holy  hour." 

The  doctor  sleeps  on. 

His  wife  lies  awake  for  a  long  time,  then  she 
hears  quick  footsteps.  Are  they  coming  this  way 
or  going  the  other  way  ]  She  listens.  They  are 
coming  this  way.  Will  they  go  by  or  will  they 
stop]  They  stop.  Then  begins  a  scries  of 
nudgings  and  callings.  The  nudging  and  the 
calling  are  both  very  moderate  at  first,  but,  pro 
ducing  not  the  slightest  impression  on  the  sleeping 
doctor,  they  wax  more  and  more  vigorous  till,  by 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  41 

the  time  the  knock  has  sounded,  he  is  brought  to 
a  sitting  posture  and  a  very,  very  sleepy  "  Yes  " 
responds  to  the  knock. 

This  time  it  is  one  of  his  prompt-paying  pa 
trons,  for  whom  it  is  a  pleasure  to  practice.  He 
wants  the  doctor  to  come  to  his  house  just  as 
quick  as  he  can  get  there,  and  is  quite  breathless 
in  his  haste. 

"  All  right ;  I'll  be  down  right  away." 
The  door  is  closed  and  the  caller  goes  with 
hurried  footsteps  down  the  walk.  Then  the 
doctor  calmly  and  deliberately — so  deliberately — 
proceeds  to  get  himself  ready ;  to  dress  himself 
with  most  scrupulous  care,  as  it  seems  to  his  im 
patient  wife,  whose  sympathies  are  always  with 
the  patient.  By  and  by  he  is  far  enough  along 
to  sit  down  and  draw  his  boots  to  his  side.  He 
takes  one  by  either  strap  and — falls  into  a  reverie  ! 
There  he  sits,  a  motionless  figure ;  his  head  bent 
slightly  forward  and  his  eyes  in  a  wide  stare. 
The  poor  man  has  been  losing  sleep  every  night 
for  a  week,  perhaps;  but  his  wife  can  only  think 
of  that  breathless  man  and  his  message.  She 


42  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

endures  as  long  as  she  can ;  then  she  fidgets  with 
as  much  noise  as  she  can  possibly  make,  and  gives 
vent  to  a  mighty  sigh. 

He  heeds  it  not. 

She  passes  another  minute  in  silent  agony ; 
then  exclaims,  with  purposely  explosive  force, 
"  Doctor !  Are  you  asleep  ]  " 

He  comes  to  himself  at  that;  and  finally  the 
hoots  are  on,  and  he  rises  and  starts  in  the  direc 
tion  of  his  collar.  His  wife  meekly  suggests 
that  he  might  just  button  his  coat  up  close,  and 
go  without  his  collar  and  cravat, — no  one  would 
know  the  difference;  and,  since  he  can  button 
his  coat  clear  up  to  his  ears  and  down  to  his 
waist,  it  would  not  make  a  bit  of  difference  if  he 
should  go  without  his  shirt !  Anything  when 
that  man  was  in  such  a  hurry  for  him  to  come. 
But  he  doesn't  do  it ;  he  never  does.  He  has 
lived  long  enough  to  know  that  the  danger  in 
those  cases  is  very  seldom  so  imminent  as  the 
friends  of  the  patient  think,  and  that  it  is  much 
more  sensible  not  to  go  at  a  high-pressure  speed 
too  often.  It  would  rob  him  of  that  very  cool- 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  43 

ness  and  calmness  which  make  a  physician's 
presence  in  the  sick-room  so  comforting  and  so 
re-assuring. 

But  his  wife  is  immensely  relieved  when  the 
door  closes  behind  him  and  she  hears  his  quick 
tread  on  the  walk.  No  laggard  movement  now. 
It  is  not  long  until  he  is  hack  and  in  bed  once 
more,  and  this  time  sleep  condescends  to  visit 
both  the  doctor  and  his  wife.  They  sleep  very 
soundly,  but  after  awhile  are  aroused  by  a 
"  Hello  !  "  from  the  gate,  which,  from  the  em 
phasis  placed  upon  it,  has  probably  been  repeated 
several  times  before  in  a  milder  tone.  The 
doctor  goes  to  the  door,  and  opens  it.  It  is  early 
dawn  now,  and  he  can  see  a  hale  young  fellow 
from  the  country  sitting  on  his  horse. 

"  What's  wanted,  young  man  1  " 

"  John  Smith  came  over  a  little  bit  ago  to  get 
me  to  come  after  you.  He  wants  you  to  come 
out  to  his  house  right  away." 

"All  right.  What's  the  matter  out  there 
now  1 " 

•'  I  don't  know;  bees  aswarmin',  I  guess." 


44  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

And  off  he  rides,  leaving  the  doctor  to  inter 
pret  tliis  mystic  message  as  best  he  may. 

And  so  he  is  gone  again,  and  the  night 
is  past. 

Perhaps  the  next  night  the  doctor  and  his 
wife  will  both  enjoy  a  night  of  unbroken  rest. 
Let  us  hope  so.  But  when  another  night  has 
come  he  must  be  away  again.  He  tells  his  wife 
he  may  not  be  back  till  morning,  and,  as  she  has 
been  a  little  timid  about  staying  alone  since  the 
neighbor's  house  was  robbed,  she  gets  a  young 
lady  across  the  street  to  come  in  and  stay  with 
her,  and,  to  still  better  fortify  themselves,  they 
sleep  together. 

About  2  o'clock  they  are  aroused  by  a  big 
knock  that  the  doctor's  wife  recognizes,  and  she 
says,  in  a  hurried  undertone,  "  Oh,  it's  the  doc 
tor  ! "  Then  there  is  "  mounting  in  hot  haste," 
and  the  wild  fluttering  of  a  night-gown  disap 
pearing  into  an  adjoining  room,  while  the  doctor 
is  admitted  at  the  front  door. 

When  9  o'clock  comes,  the  next  night,  the 
wife  finds  herself  feeling  a  little  restless  and  un- 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  45 

easy.  She  has  just  been  reading  a  powerful 
story,  in  a  leading  mngazine,  in  which  a  murder 
has  been  committed.  She  wishes  her  husband 
would  come,  and  hopes  most  fervently  that  he 
will  be  at  home  with  her  to-night.  Pretty  soon 
she  hears  his  footsteps, — and  he  will  be  home 
to-night !  He  comes  in  more  hastily  than  usual, 
and  asks  for  his  overcoat,  as  he  is  going  to  the 
country  and  may  need  it  before  he  gets  back. 

"  Oh,  dear ;  do  you  have  to  go  again  to 
night  r' 

"  Yes ;  I  have  to  go." 

"  Will  you  be  gone  all  night  1 " 

"Oh,  no;  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  hours;" 
adding,  with  a  smile,  "  so  it  won't  be  worth 
while  to  get  Lucy  to  come  and  stay  with  you, 
will  it ]" 

"No;  not  at  all.  Besides,  she  is  asleep  by 
this  time,  I  dare  say." 

He  goes  out  into  the  night  again,  and  she 
goes  to  the  door  and  casts  a  wistful  eye  over  to 
the  house  where  Lucy  lives.  It  is  shrouded  in 
darkness ;  and  she  does  wish  they  would  not 


46  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

retire  so  early  over  there.  The  thought  comes 
into  her  mind  that  perhaps  .  Lucy  has  retired 
early  in  self-defense ;  then  she  carefully  bolts 
every  door  and  fastens  every  window,  and,  after 
that  is  done,  she  scats  herself  in  her  big  chair 
again.  She  pushes  the  magazine  aside, — she  is 
a  little  afraid  of  it, — and  picks  up  a  favorite 
volume  of  poems,  always  lying  where  she  can 
put  her  hand  on  it.  She  reads  for  awhile,  and 
by  and  by  the  old  charm  begins  to  assert  itself, 
and  she  loses  in  some  degree  her  sensations  of 
fear  and  loneliness.  After  awhile  she  closes  the 
little  volume,  and  prepares  to  retire.  The  first 
thing  she  does  in  her  preparations  is  to  go  to 
her  closet,  take  out  a  linen  duster  that  hangs 
there,  and  lay  it  on  the  back  of  a  chair  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  Then  she  goes  out  through  the 
hall,  unlocks  the  door  leading  on  to  the  back 
porch,  stoops  down  and  picks  up  the  little 
puppy  asleep  in  his  box,  hurries  through  the 
door  as  if  the  Furies  were  behind  her,  bolts  it, 
carries  the  little  black  pup — whining  a  little  at 
being  disturbed — into  her  sleeping-room,  and 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  47 

lays  him  gently  down  in  the  chimney-corner. 
She  does  not  make  preparations  of  this  kind 
when  the  doctor  is  at  home;  hut  it  is  really 
company  for  her  to  have  some  living,  breathing 
tiling  in  the  room  hesides  herself.  She  puts  the 
duster  hy  the  hod,  so  it  will  he  handy  in  case 
burglars  should  come.  When  they  come,  she 
is  going  to  jump  into  it  and  run  to  the  next 
neighbor's.  She  turns  the  light  down  very  low, 
and  goes  to  bed. 

After  awhile  the  clock  chimes  out  the  hour  of 
eleven.  It  is  high  time  for  her  to  he  asleep,  but 
she  is  not  asleep.  A  half-hour  goes  by.  How 
still  it  is !  The  clock's  dull  tick  and  an  occa 
sional  little  snore  from  the  puppy  are  the  only 
sounds  she  hears. 

The  clock  ticks  on.  Midnight  is  drawing 
near, — the  strange  and  solemn  time  which  lies 
between  the  day  that  is  dead  and  the  day  that  is 
just  born.  Another  day,  with  all  its  possibilities 
for  good,  will  in  another  moment  take  its  place  in 
the  eternal  past,  and  the  opportunities  that  might 
have  been  hers,  if  she  had  only  been  alert  and 


48  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

ready  to  "  grasp  the  skirts  of  happy  chance,"  are 
gone,  and  gone  forever. 

The  clock  is  striking.  The  day  is  dead. 
And  as  another  from  out  the  great  ranks  of 
the  future  steps  into  the  narrow  niche  where  yes 
terday  lias  stood  and  becomes  to-day,  she  wonders 
if  it  will  be  any  different  with  her  in  this  new 
day.  How  will  it  be  through  all  the  days  that 
are  to  come  I  If  she  live  to  be  an  old,  white- 
haired  woman,  will  she  feel  then,  as  she  does 
to-night,  that  her  life  has  been  slothful  and 
inactive,  and  that,  for  any  good  thing  that  she 
has  accomplished  in  her  little  world,  she  might 
as  well  have  never  lived  at  all  1 

Her  eyes  wander  to  the  dear  little  volume 
on  the  table,  and  her  thoughts  stray  westward 
to  the  grave  on  the  mountain-side  where  its 
gifted  author  lies  at  rest,  "clover-blossoms  on 
her  breast." 

Her  life  and  her  work  were  grand  and  beau 
tiful  and  live  after  her  yet.  In  that  little  book, 
in  exquisitely  pathetic  lines,  is  the  record  of  her 
deep  humility  and  grief,  when  the  end  of  life 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFK.  49 

drew  near,  that  she  hud  done  no  more.     It  is  her 
last  prayer,  and  so  she  has  named  it: — 

"  Father,  I  scarcely  dare  to  pray, 
So  clear  I  see,  now  it  is  done, 
That  I  have  wasted  half  my  day, 

And  left  my  work  but  just  begun  ; 
******* 
"  So  clear  I  see  that  I  have  hurt 

The  souls  I  might  have  helped  to  save; 
That  I  have  slothful  been,  inert, 
Deaf  to  the  calls  thy  leaders  gave. 

"In  outskirts  of  thy  kingdoms  vast, 

Father,  the  humblest  spot  give  me; 
Set  me  the  lowliest  task  thou  hast; 
Let  me  repentant  work  for  thee!" 

Tliis  woman,  with  all  her  glorious  work  for  a 
misunderstood  and  down-trodden  race  behind  h(?r, 
as  well  as  her  work  for  the  most  cultured  of  her 
time,  cannot  find  it  in  her  heart  at  last  to  ask  a 
place  within  the  courts  of  heaven,  but  only  asks 
the  humblest  spot  in  the  outskirts  of  the  king 
dom,  where  she  may  be  given  the  meanest  and 
lowliest  work  to  do,  and  she  will  do  it  willingly, 

4 


50  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

repentantly,  for  the  Master,  because  of  what  she 
has  left  undone  on  earth. 

There  are  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  doctor's 
wife  as  she  thinks  of  this  life,  too  soon  ended, 
and  of  the  deep,  deep  humility  that  is  breathed 
forth  in  this  "Last  Prayer."  When  the  last, 
hour  shall  come  to  her,  and  to  others  like  her 
who  have  done  so  little,  what  will  there  he  left 
for  them  to  ask  I 

Then  her  thoughts  wander  off  to  the  cul 
tured  woman  who  has  taken  up  the  work  her 
gifted  predecessor  let  fall,  and  it  is  some  pleasure 
to  her  to  reflect  that  she  is  a  physician's  wife. 
But  her  thoughts  are  interrupted  by  most  wel 
come  footsteps,  and  now  the  doctor's  wife  grows 
both  brave  and  sleepy ;  for  the  doctor  has  come, 
and  she  is  safe,  and  knows  nothing  more  till 
morning. 

And  so  the  nights  come  and  go, — some  of 
them  spent  in  unbroken  sleep,  some  of  them  cut 
into  fragments.  The  wife  learns  to  accept  the 
broken  nights  philosophically  and  gracefully. 
It  is  all  a  part  of  her  life.  And  what  of  the 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  51 

doctor,  himself,  as  he  goes  on  his  midnight  jour 
neys'?  Happy  is  he,  since  he  must  he  ahroad  so 
often  in  the  night,  if  he  can  draw  himself  away 
for  awhile  from  sickness  and  want  and  all  tem 
poral  things,  and  find  some  heauty  or  grandeur 
in  a  silent  world  or  in  the  skies  of  midnight. 
Does  he  ever  pause  for  an  instant,  in  his  lonely 
walks,  to  look  up  into  the  .starry  vault  that  hends 
ahove  him]  Perhaps;  and  if  so,  it  may  he  that 

he   is  able  to  read  there  a 

f       i  • 
message    lor    mm, —  weary 

worker  while  all  the  world 
lies    sleeping, — some    sweet    ^S&S^SBk 
and      comforting      message 

"  writ  in  the  jewelled  cypher  of  the  night."  Or 
it  may  be  that,  driving,  some  stormy  night, 
through  swaying  trees  and  blinding  rain,  with 
the  fitful  flashing  of  the  lightning  for  his  guide, 
and  the  crash  and  roar  of  the  thunder  all  about 
him,  he  can  "look  through  Nature  up  to 
Nature's  God,"  and  feel  a  closer  kinship  with 
the  mighty  hand  that  rules  the  elements  at 
war  than  with  the  hand  that  rules  when  all 


52  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

is  peace.  For  there  comes  a  turbulence  into 
the  souls  of  men  sometimes  which  revels  in  the 
storm,  and  perhaps  that  turbulence  has  not  been 
entirely  eliminated  from  the  soul  of  the  doctor. 


THE  physician's  wife  should  possess  some 
tact  and  discretion,  and  her  bump  of  curiosity 
should  be  not  too  largely  developed.  When  the 
doctor  comes  home,  it  is  more  than  probable  he 
will  enjoy  talking  about  something  else  than 
what  has  occupied  his  mind  at  the  office.  Then 
she  should  not  greet  him  with  a  round  of  ques 
tions  and  cross-questions  as  to  this  or  that  pa 
tient,  just  what  is  the  matter  with  him  or  her, 
etc.,  etc.  Tn  the  first  place,  there  are  many 
things  she  has  no  right  to  know.  Patients  are 
often  very  sensitive;  they  take  the  doctor  into 
their  confidence  because  they  must,  not  because 
they  would  choose  to  do  so  if  it  could  be 
avoided.  That  confidence  should  not  be  be 
trayed  even  to  his  wife.  In  the  next  place,  she 
should  not  want  to  know.  It  will  often  be  a 


THK    PHVSiriAx's    WIFE.  53 

relief  to  her  to  say,  if  she  is  questioned, — and 
to  say  honestly  and  without  evasion, — I  do  not 
know.  .By  this  I  do  not  mean  that  the  phy 
sician  should  never  mention  his  patients  to  his 
wife;  hut  it  might  not  he  amiss  for  him,  in  some 
cases,  to  carry  in  his  memory  the  words  of  Hot 
spur  to  Lady  Percy,  his  wife,  when  she  begged 
him  to  reveal  to  her  an  important  secret: — 

"Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know  ; 
And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee,  gentle  Kate." 

Then  lie  kindly  goes  on, — 

"  I  know  you  wise,  but  yet  no  further  wise 
Th:m  Hurry  Percy's  wife;  constant  you  are, 
But  yet  a  woman  ;  and,  for  secrecy, 
No  lady  closer." 

That  was  nearly  five  hundred  years  ago,  and 
Harry  IVrcy  no  doubt  voiced  the  sentiment 
of  his  time.  Let  us  hope,  however,  that  the 
physician  will  not  find  it  necessary  to  refuse  his 
wife  his  confidence  because,  like  Hotspur,  he  is 
afraid  to  trust  her,  but  simply  because  he  has 
no  right  to  reveal  these  things,  and  she  has 


54  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

no  right  to  know  them.  And  let  us  hope  that 
all  physicians,  as  well  as  all  other  men,  recog 
nize  now  that  if  Hotspur  could  come  back  and 
look  with  observant  eyes  on  the  world  he  left  so 
long  ago,  he  would  see  with  very  clear  vision 
that,  while  secrets  still  continue  to  escape  their 
moorings,  his  indiscreet  brethren  have  as  large  a 
share  in  their  release  as  his  indiscreet  sisters,  and 
that  the  equality  of  men  and  women  is  being 
more  and  more  established  on  the  earth. 

Physicians'  wives  are  denied  some  privileges 
which  other  wives  may  enjoy  if  they  care  to  do 
so.  For  instance,  if  anybody  needs  a  big,  savage 
dog,  it  is  certainly  the  doctor's  wife,  who  is  so 
often  left  without  a  protector  in  the  night.  Yet 
she  is  the  very  one  who  cannot  have  a  savage 
dog,  because  he  would  bite  the  people  who  come 
for  the  doctor  at  night  just  as  quick  as  he  would 
a  burglar  or  a  tramp,  which  would  not  be  profit 
able  for  any  of  the  parties  concerned. 

Most  physicians  do  not  relish  the  idea  of 
their  wives  sleeping  over  loaded  revolvers 
either ;  since  they,  coming  in  at  all  hours  of 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  55 

the  night  and  arousing  .said  wives  suddenly, 
might,  in  a  frenzied  moment  or  in  some  inter 
rupted  dream,  he  mistaken  for  midnight  ma 
rauders  and  he  fired  upon  accordingly. 

Then,  if  the  doctor's  wife  go  to  church  or 
to  the  opera-house  with  her  husband  she  is  liable 
to  have  to  go  home  through  the  darkness  alone, 
somebody  rise  having  a  more  urgent  claim  on  the 
doctor  than  she.  However,  while  I  do  not  feel 
called  upon  to  give  my  reason  for  the  statement, 
1  will  say  that  I  believe  very  few  doctors  have  to 
leave  church  to  answer  calls. 

Then,  too,  it  has  long  been  considered  a  pre 
rogative  of  wives  to  indulge  in  little  hysterical 
fits  occasionally,  as  a  means  to  compass  an  end. 
It  is  said  to  be  a  very  effectual  means,  and  that 
nothing  scares  and  subdues  the  average  man  like 
hysterics.  The  physician's  wife  is  forever  de 
barred  from  this  high  privilege, — that  is,  if  she 
have  the  discernment  to  see  which  way  her 
best  interests  lie.  Her  husband  would  neither 
be  frightened,  subdued,  nor  sympathetic.  He 
"knows  the  symptoms." 


56  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

I  have  sometimes  wondered  about  this  queer 
disease,  and  have  said  to  the  doctor  of  our 
household,  "  Hysteria  is  a  real  disease,  is  it 
not]"  He  admits  rather  reluctantly  that  it  is. 
Still,  he  does  not  admit  that  it  deserves  any  sym 
pathy  whatever,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  only 
the  most  "heroic"  treatment;  and  I  am  pretty 
sure  all  doctors  hold  the  same  view.  Now,  I 
find,  in  reading  the  history  of  the  disease,  that 
it  is  a  disordered  condition  of  the  nervous  sys 
tem  ;  that  hereditary  predisposition  to  nerve- 
instability  is  its  most  prolific  cause,  though  the 
want  of  occupation  is  also  a  prolific  cause ;  that 
the  depressing  effects  of  almost  any  disease  may 
produce  it,  especially  if  the  disease  be  accom 
panied  by  much  pain  and  loss  of  sleep ;  that  in 
hysteria  one  of  the  commonest  sensations  is  that 
of  a  nail  being  driven  through  the  top  of  the 
head  ;  that  the  senses  of  taste,  sight,  and  hear 
ing  may  be  affected, — sometimes  temporarily 
obliterated  ;  that  it  may  pass  into  absolute  in 
sanity.  All  this  on  the  authority  of  a  man 
eminent  in  the  medical  profession. 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  57 

I  am  making  no  plea  for  "  hysterics."  Even 
if  I  were  not  a  physician's  wife,  I  should  hope 
never  to  "have  'em"  myself;  but  I  will  say  that 
it  seems  to  me  one  may  find  some  excuse  for  the 
poor  creatures  who  are  victims  to  all  or  to  any  of 
the  sensations  just  mentioned;  and  I  defy  any  dis 
dainful  doctor  to  experience  just  one  of  the  above- 
named  sensations, — viz.,  to  feel  that  some  mon>tcr 
stands,  Jael-like,  with  hammer  and  nail  to  pierce 
the  vertex  of  his  skull, — and  not  i;  take  on." 

Then,  since  the  want  of  occupation  is  one 
of  the  chief  causes  of  hysteria,  that  should  teach 
him  charity,  lest  he,  too,  should  one  day  become 
hysterical  And  he  need  not  feel  that  he  enjoys 
absolute  immunity  from  this  tabooed  disease 
himself,  for  there  is  another  statement  in  that 
same  able  article, — to  the  effect  that  for  every 
twenty  hysterical  women  there  is  one  hysterical 
man  !  I  was  overjoyed  to  find  it.  I  had  always 
supposed,  as  far  as  any  written  or  printed  record 
of  the  matter  was  concerned,  that  our  sex  (Mi- 
joyed  an  odious  monopoly  of  hysterics;  and  one 
out  of  twenty  in  such  a  matter  is  no  small  per- 


58  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

centage.  But,  right  here  comes  in  another  state 
ment, — that  a  chief  characteristic  of  the  disease  is 
a  desire  to  be  an  object  of  importance ;  and  that 
seems  to  me  to  make  the  percentage  much  too 
small.  I  really  cannot  harmonize  that  state 
ment  with  the  one  that  there  is  only  one  hys 
terical  man  to  twenty  hysterical  women. 

The  article  tells  me,  too,  that  another  char 
acteristic  is  a  constant  craving  for  sympathy.  It 
may  be  one  would  have  to  go  very  far  back  in 
the  history  of  the  race  to  get  at  the  root  of  that 
matter.  Here,  it  seems  to  me,  the  percentage 
should  be  equal,  for,  whether  or  not  we  ever 
admit  it  to  ourselves  or  to  others,  we  all  know, 
men  and  women  alike,  that  deep  down  in  the 
heart  there  is  a  longing  for  some  appreciation, 
some  love,  some  sympathy.  And,  if  the  love 
a i-ul  sympathy  had  always  existed  that  should 
exist  between  man  and  his  brother-man,  be 
tween  woman  and  her  sister-woman,  and  be 
tween  men  and  women,  who  need  not  stand  in 
opposing  ranks,  but  as  friends  and  counselors 
each  to  the  other,  since  both  have  like  hopes 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  59 

and  ambitious,  and  both  must  walk  alike  the 
pleasant  and  the  weary  pat! is  of  life,  then  there 
would  be  no  motive  for  even  an  occasional  ex 
hibition  to  the  doctor  of  a  morbid  and  offensive 
craving  for  sympathy  which,  naturally  enough, 
can  only  awaken  contempt  in  his  professional 
mind. 

But  things  are  as  they  are,  and  not  as  they 
should  be,  and  we  must  accept  them  until  a 
better  order  shall  come  to  reign. 


ALL  men  are  absent-minded  and  forgetful; 
but  I  believe  physicians  are  particularly  so, 
thereby  causing  a  world  of  inconvenience  to 
their  wives.  In  this  I  have  found  much  una 
nimity  of  opinion  among  physicians'  wives  of  my 
acquaintance,  though  justice  usually  leads  them 
to  admit  that  the  doctor  has  a  better  excuse  for 
his  absent-mindedness  than  most  men.  His  mind 
as  he  goes  from  breakfast  may  be  ever  so  firmly 
fixed  on  what  he  is  to  order  for  dinner,  or  upon 
any  other  commission  he  meant  to  execute  for 


60  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

his  wife,  but  for  him  exigencies  are  always 
arising.  It  may  be  a  broken  bone,  or  a  man 
bleeding  to  death,  or  a  baby  choking  to  death  ; 
and  it  is  really  no  wonder  that  the  poor  man's 
plans  and  purposes  "  gang  aft  aglee."  In  cases 
of  this  kind  all  charity  should  be  extended  to 
the  doctor,  even  though  his  wife  be  compelled, 
for  a  day  or  two  at  a  time,  to  take  no  thought  as 
to  what  she  shall  eat  or  wherewith  she  shall 
be  clothed ;  but  she  should  not  condone  too 
lightly  all  the  sins  of  a  treacherous  memory 
by  which  she  is  so  often  placed  in  very  trying 
positions. 

One  pretty  young  doctor's  wife  \vas  telling 
me,  not  long  ago,  a  little  experience  of  hers 
which  she  assured  me  w?as  only  one  of  many. 

One  winter  morning,  just  after  her  husband 
had  gone  from  breakfast,  the  busy  wife  was 
startled  by  a  knock  at  the  kitchen-door,  near 
which  she  was  standing.  She  opened  it,  and 
there  stood  Auntie  J.,  a  voluble  but  kind- 
hearted  woman,  well  known  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  She  carried  a  basket  on  her  arm,  and 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


61 


she  walked  in  and  seated  herself,  set  the  basket 
down  beside  her,  took  off  her  hood  and  laid  it 
on  the  basket,  and  began  warming  her  feet. 
The  doctor's  wife  was  naturally  somewhat  sur 
prised  at  the  earliness  of  her  call,  and  at  the 
comfortable  way  in  which  her  visitor  settled  her 
self,  as  if  for  the  day;  but  she  inquired  as  to  the 
welfare  of  her  family,  as  people  always  do,  and 
they  chatted  away  for  awhile,  though  the  me 
thodical  little  wife,  casting  an  uneasy  eye  around 
her  small  domain,  could  not  help  wishing  that 
Auntie  had  waited  till  she  got  the  breakfast- 
divhes  washed  and  the  house  put  in  order  for 
the  day.  By  and  by  Auntie  quietly  inquired, 
"  Well,  are  you  about  ready  for 
me  to  begin  V 

'•  Begin  what  Y" 

"  Well,  for  the  land's  sake;  ! 
Hain't  Doc.  told  you  nothin' 
about  it]" 

"  The  doctor  has  told  me 
nothing  about  <ui>jtltin<j"  said 
the  little  woman,  in  indignant, 


62  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

yet  despairing  tones.  "What  is  it  you  are  to 
begin  T' 

"  Why,  he  told  me  last  night  to  come  down 
this  morning  and  help  you  with  the  butcherin'." 

Deep  silence  on  the  part  of  the  doctor's  wife, 
who  felt  herself  too  full  for  utterance. 

"  He  said  there'd  be  some  men  down  here 
to  do  the  out-door  work,  and  for  me  to  come  to 
help  you." 

Now,  '-butchering"  was  something  the  soul 
of  the  doctor's  wife  did  not  delight  in.  She 
knew  something  about  it  in  toto,  but  very  little 
as  to  detail,  and,  while  it  was  the  custom  at  that 
time  for  families  in  the  town  to  superintend  the 
preparing  and  putting  away  of  the  supply  of 
meats  for  the  year,  yet  this  young  wife  felt,  to 
the  depths  of  her  soul,  as  she  walked  to  the 
window  and  gazed  out  with  blurred  vision  upan 
the  wintry  landscape,  that  it  was  a  custom  more 
honored  in  the  breach  than  in  the  observance. 
And  then  to  think  that  the  doctor  had  not  told 
her  anything  at  all  about  it — simply  forgot  it 
— and  just  sent  a  lot  of  people  down  there  and 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  63 

left  her  no  way  to  help  herself.  Oh !  she  wishes 
she  had  never  got  married,  or,  at  any  rate,  that 
she  had  not  married  a  man  whose  wits  went  so 
often  wool-gathering,  and  then  she  would  not 
have  to  be  standing  there  now  with  a  lump  in  her 
throat  that  would  not  down,  and  kept  threatening 
every  minute  to  choke  her.  She  can  hear  those 
heartless  men  now,  whistling  and  singing  as  if 
their  work  were  the  greatest  joy  of  their  lives, 
and  as  if  a  heart  inside  the  house  were  not 
ready  to  burst  with  its  impotent  wrath  and 
scorn  of  it  all ! 

Auntie  takes  in  the  situation,  but  bustles 
around  outwardly  oblivious.  The  doctor's  wile 
gets  through  her  work  and  the  morning  some 
how.  Auntie  is  there  to  dinner,  but  the  doctor 
is  not.  Is  lie  away  in  the  country,  or  have  his 
wandering  senses  come  back  to  tell  him  of  the 
probable  state  of  affairs  at  home,  and  to  remind 
him  that  it  might  be  expedient  for  him  to  dine  at 
a  restaurant  to-day"?  That  is  one  great  advantage 
the  doctor  has;  he  is  aw;iy  so  often  necessarily 
that  he  can  stay  sometimes  unnecessarily,  and 


64 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 


yet  have  no  comment  excited  by  his  absence. 
(I  hope  doctors  do  not  often  take  so  mean  an 
advantage  of  confiding-  and  trustful  wives.) 

After  dinner  comes  the  tug  of  war,  and  the 
young-  wife  stands  like  a  stoic  at  a  table,  with 
a  big  colored  man  on  one  side  of  her,  and 
a  white  man,  whom  she 
strongly  suspects  to  be  a 
thief,  on  the  other  side,  with 
Auntie  at  the  end,  and  to 
gether  they  cut  and  cross-cut 
and  slash  the  huge  pieces  of 
fat  preparatory  to  "  render 
ing  "  out  the  lard,  while  the 
lean  meat  is  put  into  a  big 
tub  to  be  ground  into  sausage.  When  at  last 
that  part  of  it  is  done,  and  the  men  are  out 
about  the  kettles  again,  Auntie  and  the  doctor's 
wife  seat  themselves  on  two  chairs  opposite  each 
other,  Auntie  to  "  feed "  and  the  doctor's  wife 
to  "grind." 

And    she   grinds   and    she    grinds,    and    her 
thoughts  go  off  to  the  mills  of  the  gods,  which 


THE    PHYSICIANS    WIFK.  65 

arc  said  to  grind  slowly  and  exceeding  small ; 
and  she  thinks  that  this  mill,  which  her  unani- 
mated  muscles  are  manipulating,  is  a  good  deal 
like  those  mills  of  the  gods.  Presently,  Auntie 
says,  "I'll  rest  ye  a  bit";  and  when  the  two 
have  changed  places  the  grinding  goes  on  and 
on.  After  a  long  silence  Auntie  remarks,  as 
she  turns  steadily  away  at  the  crank,  "  I  hee'rd 
a  preacher  preach  oncet  about  two  wimmen 
a-grindin'  at  a  mill." 

A  smile — which  the  doctor's  wife  would  re 
press  if  she  could,  for  she  does  not  want  Auntie 
to  think  that  she  could  be  weak  enough  to  so 
far  forget  her  trials  as  to  smile  this  day — plays 
about  her  mouth,  as  she  replies,  "  It  wasn't  a 
sausage-mill,  was  it,  Auntie'?" 

"  I  reckon  it  must  'a  been.  I  don't  b'leeve 
I  ever  seen  two  wimmin  a-grindin'  away  at  any 
other  kind  of  a  mill.  The  preacher  said  one 
of  them  would  be  took  and  the  other  left.  I 
don't  jist  know  what  he  meant  by  that."  Here 
Auntie  looked  up  at  her  companion  and  a  merry 
gleam  came  into  her  eyes,  as  she  added,  "But 


66  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

its  my  opinion  that  if  anybody  is  a-comin'  for 
one  of  us,  they'll  have  a  hard  time  a-choosin' 
which  one  to  take  and  which  one  to  leave." 

The  doctor's  wife,  looking  at  the  frowzy  head 
of  her  companion,  which  looks  just  like  her  own 
head  feels,  and  at  the  greased  hands  and  aprons 
of  the  twain,  feels  very  sure  that  in  this  case  both 
grinding-  women  would  be  left. 

But  all  tilings  come  to  an  end,  and  so  at  last 
docs  the  grinding.  The  doctor's  wife  remarks, 
wearily,  that  she  does  not  know  what  she  is  ex 
pected  to  do  with  that  immense  tub  of  sausage, 
because  the  doctor  does  not  like  sausage  much, 
and  she  doesn't  either.  Auntie,  who  is  a  thrifty 
and  business-like  soul,  looks  at  her  in  a  kind  of 
pitying  disdain. 

"  Well,  good  land,  child,  why  didn't  ye  sell 
yer  pigs,  then  ?  What  did  ye  butcher  fer  1 "  • 

"What  did  /  butcher  for !" 

The  doctor's  wife  looks  at  Auntie  with  blaz 
ing  eyes  and  withering  scorn.  The  last  straw 
has  broken  the  camel's  back.  Auntie  is  an 
swered. 


TIIK   ri!Ys:ri. \.\'s  \VIFE.  67 

Later  in  the  evening  she  carried  home  with 
her  a  generous  portion  of  the  contents  of  the  tub. 
The  colored  man  also  came  in  for  a  goodly  share, 
and  the  white  man  of  questionable  integrity  was 
given  a  somewhat  smaller  portion,  as  seemed  to 
the  hostess  fitting  and  proper. 

That  night  the  doctor's  wife — and  the  doctor 
— had  an  interesting  conference  together  on  the 
subject  of  absent-mindedness,  and.  when  that  was 
through,  on  the  subject  of  butchering,  and  they 
mutually  and  severally  agreed  that  the  lord-high- 
executioner  of  the  town's  pigs  should  be  employed 
at  his  own  headquarters  on  all  future  occasions, 
provided  there  was  ever  any  more  butchering 
to  do. 

Another  doctor's  wife  relates  a  little  incident, 
in  regard  to  her  husband's  absent-mindedness, 
which  was  really  quite  surprising  to  me,  well 
accustomed  as  I  am  to  surprising  things. 

It  seems  they  had  two  ministers  at  their 
house  to  dinner  one  day, — both  of  them  D.D.s,  I 
think  she  said. — when  her  good  husband,  instead 
of  asking  one  of  them  to  pronounce  the  blessing, 


68  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

started  to  pronounce  it  himself.  If  be  could  have 
gone  entirely  through  with  it  without  recollect 
ing  himself,  all  would  have  heen  well ;  but  in  the 
midst  of  it  bis  senses  returned ;  he  halted,  stam 
mered  :  bis  wife  grew  hot  and  cold  by  turns  ;  but 
at  last  it  was  finished  up  in  some  way,  and  the 
meal  begun  amid  some  slightly  affected  coughing 
and  some  remarks  not  specially  pertinent. 

Now,  it  did  seem  to  me  a  most  astonishing 
thing  that  a  doctor  should  start  in  ahead  of  two 
ministers  to  ask  a  blessing,  be  he  ever  so  absent- 
minded;  but  when  I  found  that  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  saying  grace  at  his  own  table,  my  amaze 
ment  was  complete.  I  was  very  glad,  indeed,  to 
hear  of  him.  He  lives  in  Indiana.  I  have  also 
heard  of  one  more.  He  lives  in  New  York. 
Isolated  cases  are  always  interesting  to  the  pro 
fession,  and  the  profession,  too,  will  be  glad  to 
know  of  them.  It  will  also  be  glad  to  know  that, 
however  doubtful  these  two  States  may  be  politi 
cally,  yet  morally  they  are  forging  to  the  front ! 

Then  I  go  back  in  my  own  memory  to  an 
autumn  evening  eleven  years  ago,  and  see  myself 


TIIK    I'llVSICIAN  S    \\'IFE. 


69 


standing  just  outside  the  gate,  in  earnest  conversa 
tion  with  a  man  in  a  wagon.  He  had  driven  up 
with  the  announcement  that  "  Doc.  told  me  to 
bring  these  chickens  down  to  you  ;  there's  jist  a 
do/en  of  'em."  That  was  in  the  first  year  of  our 
married  life,  and  we  were  living  in  a  new  little 
house,  rented,  on  a  new  little  place  with  not  a 
si ied  nor  a  coop  where  chickens  might  be  even 
temporarily  stowed ;  and  where  could  I  put  the 
chickens'?  In  my  anxiety  and  bewilderment,  is 
it  any  wonder  that  my  thoughts  turned  finally 
and  very  reluctantly  to  one  stiff  little  room  in  our 
house  we  never  used  except  when  "  callers " 
came1?  That  night,  when  the  doctor  came  home 
and  found  the  chickens  safe  and  apparently 
sound,  he  confided  to  me  the  fact  that  after 
ordering  the  man  to  bring  them  down  he  had 
started  out  in  town  to  visit  a  patient,  when 
all  a-t  once  the  thought  struck  him  that  I 
had  not  an  earthly  place  to 
pnt  them  when  they  got 
there.  Of  course  he  knew 
that  before,  but  he  was 


70  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

absent-minded.  He  turned  around  intending  to 
come  home  and  see  about  it,  and  then  went  on 
his  way  again,  saying  to  himself,  "  I'll  warrant 
she'll  manage  them ! "  And  not  a  wave  of 
trouble  rolled  across  his  peaceful  breast.  My 
sisters,  that  was  a  sublime  faith,  and  those  were 
halcyon  days,  when  the  faith,  and  especially  the 
expression  of  it,  were  balm  and  incense  to  my 
soul.  But  St.  Paul  has  something  very  pointed 
to  say  about  faith  without  works,  and  if  the 
same  tiling  should  occur  to-morrow  I  should 

o 

say,  "  A  little  less  faith,  Doctor  dear,  and  a 
chicken-coop." 

I  will  add  that,  while  my  thoughts  did  fly  to 
the  parlor,  I  did  not  put  the  chickens  there.  An 
inspiration  came  just  in  time,  and  I  asked  the 
man  to  leave  his  coop  until  he  came  to  town 
again,  and  in  the  meantime  I  would  have  one 
made. 

If  I  were  to  stop  to  chronicle  all  the  instances 
that  might  be  chronicled  of  the  absent-minded 
ness  of  physicians,  this  little  volume  would  stretch 
out  into  a  very  unwieldy  one,  which  I  have 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  AVIFK.  71 

pledged   myself  shall  not  happen.       So   I  leave 
this  fruitful  and  inviting  theme  behind  me. 


AND  now  I  would  like  to  ask  physicians' 
wives,  Do  your  husbands  ever  get  sick1?  Then, 
angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  you  !  A 
doctor  is  so  accustomed  to  being  director  in  a 
sick-room  that  he  wants  to  be  director  at  the 
same  time  that  lie  is  the  patient,  when  he  is  not 
at  himself  and  not  capable  of  directing  things. 
I  have  been  so  fortunate  as  to  have  had  only  one 
experience  in  that  line,  but  it  clings  to  my  mem 
ory  still.  It  is  not  anarchy  nor  rebellion  of  any 
kind  that  I  am  advocating  when  I  advise  you,  as 
one  who  knows  whereof  she  speaks,  to  keep  a 
high  hand  and  not  let  the  patient  gain  the  as 
cendancy  over  you,  or  reason  and  common  sense 
will  flee  away  and  folly  run  riot  in  your  house 
hold. 

One  physician's  wife  of  my  acquaintance 
tells  me  that  her  husband  nearly  drove  her  wild 
during  an  illness  of  his.  She  says  that,  while  he 


72  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

was  too  sick  to  have  the  management  of  himself 
and  his  room  entirely  in  his  own  hands  as  he 
wanted  to  have,  he  was  still  not  sick  enough  to 
care  nothing  ahout  those  things  and  yield  him 
self  to  others ;  and  a  patient  of  that  kind,  even 
when  he  is  not  a  doctor,  is  very  hard  to  manage. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  November  when  he 
was  taken  ill,  and  many  of  the  days  were  bleak 
and  cold  ;  yet  he  would  insist  on  the  door  and 
every  window  in  the  room  being  open,  while 
blinds  banged  and  curtains  flapped,  and  the  free 
winds  of  heaven  had  frolicsome  times  in  his 
apartment. 

His  wife  told  me  that  she  remembered  one 
cold,  raw  morning  in  particular,  when,  fearful 
that  he  would  take  cold,  she  begged  him  to  con 
sent  to  have  one  window  and  the  outside  door 
closed,  which  would  still  leave  two  windows 
open ;  but  when  he  fiercely  charged  her  with 
cruelty,  a  fell  purpose  to  smother  him,  etc.,  she 
desisted.  Soon  afterward  a  physician  from  a 
neighboring  village,  who  happened  to  be  in 
town,  came  down  to  call  upon  his  sick  brother. 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  73 

The  wife  conducted  him  to  the  sick-room,  saw 
him  enter,  then  glance  around  with  a  shiver  at 
the  open  door  and  windows  and  the  wildly-flap 
ping  curtains,  and  the  next  instant  she  knew 
that  her  sick  husband  had  seen  the  glance  and 
the  shiver,  too,  for  she  heard  a  voice  from  the 
bod,  so  meek  that  it  might  have  proceeded  from 
Moses  himself,  saying,  "Doctor,  won't  you  please 
close  that  door  and  one  or  two  of  the  win 
dows  ;  I  think  they  have  got  it  too  cold  in  here 
for  me  !" 

That  was  more  than  flesh  and  blood  could 
stand,  and  the  doctor's  wife  walked  majestically 
into  that  room  and  explained  to  the  new-comer 
exactly  why  "they"  had  it  too  cold  in  there  for 
the  sick  man. 

She  gives  another  instance  of  the  sick  doc 
tor's  way  of  doing  things.  One  evening,  after 
she  had  given  her  husband  a  bath  and  made  all 
comfortable  for  the  night,  her  brother,  who  had 
just  arrived  from  another  State  on  a  short  visit, 
insisted  that  she  retire  for  a  good  night's  rest, 
while  he  would  lie  down  near  the  patient  and 


74  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

attend  to  anything-  necessary  through  the  night. 
There  would  he  very  little  to  attend  to,  as  the 
doctor  had  littb  r  r  no  fever,  and  was  not  to  be 
awakened  for  anything  whatever  if  he  slept. 
The  wife  knew  that  when  bed-time  came  re 
proaches  would  be  heaped  upon  her  for  leaving 
him,  but  she  also  knew  her  own  frame,  and  duty 
and  common  sense  told  her  that  if  she  would  be 
well  and  strong  for  the  morrow  she  must  sleep, 
especially  since  her  husband  was  in  good  con 
dition,  and  her  brother  was  an  excellent  nurse 
in  case  any  nursing  were  required,  and  the 
patient  would  probably  go  to  sleep  and  sleep 
all  night. 

Accordingly,  at  9  o'clock,  steeling  herself 
against  the  reproachful  looks  and  glances,  which 
came  sure  enough,  she  bade  her  husband  good 
night  and  retired  to  rest. 

About  2  o'clock  she  was  awakened  by  a 
noise,  and  opening  her  eyes  beheld  a  tall,  bare 
footed  figure,  with  one  suspender  over  its  shoul 
der  and  one  at  its  side,  wandering  helplessly 
about  with  a  tea-kettle  in  its  hand.  The  doc- 


'i  UK    I'liVSK  IAN  S    WII'K. 


tor's  wife  rose  instantly  to  a  sitting  posture  and 
demanded,  "Jack,  what  in  this  world  are  you 
trying  to  do  V 

"Why,     the     doctor    called     me    just    now, 
and    said    he   wanted    to    take    a    bath." 
"  Take    a    bath  !     He   just    took 
one  at  bed-time." 

"Well,  that  is  what  he 
said,  and  I  was  trying  to 
find  things  without  wak 
ing  you,  but  I  couldn't 
find  anything  but  this  tea 
kettle." 

Of  course  he  couldn't. 
Where  is  the  man  that 
could  find  things,  even  if  he  were  master  of 
the  house  and  knew  just  where  they  were,  until 
his  wife  went  and  calmly  and  instantly  placed 
them  in  his  hands. 

"  Never  mind,  Jack.  I'll  get  dressed  and 
attend  to  it ;  and  you  lie  down  here,  where  you 
can  sleep." 

She  dressed  herself,  and  went  out   into  the 


76  TIIE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

kitchen  to  get  kindling  to  replenish  the  lire,  which 
had  hurned  too  low  to  heat  water.  Finding  no 
kindling  there,  she  groped  her  way  out  into  the 
wood-shed,  where  she  was  more  fortunate.  When 
the  fire  was  rebuilt  and  the  water  heated,  she 
went  in  to  tell  her  patient  that  all  was  ready. 
He  looked  calmly  up  into  her  face,  and  an 
nounced  that  he  had  just  concluded  to  wait  till 


morning ! 


But  he  did'nt.  He  took  his  bath  right 
then.  And  afterward,  as  morning  was  so  near, 
the  good  wife  just  sat  down  beside  the  patient, 
who  became  as  happy  and  contented  as  a  little 
child  when  its  mother  is  near.  She  knew,  as 
well  as  if  he  had  told  her,  that  his  reason  for 
wanting  a  bath  at  that  time  was  only  an  excuse 
to  get  her  there  with  him,  and,  unreasonable  as 
it  might  be,  now  that  it  was  all  over  it  did  not 
displease  her.  She  only  looked  down  upon  the 
good  face  now  sinking  into  contented  sleep,  and 
the  thought  of  the  utter  reliance  of  the  strong 
man,  in  "his  weakness,  upon  one  frail  woman 
touched  her  very  deeply.  She  bent  down  and 


THK    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


gently  pressed  her  cheek  to  the  hand  that,  even 
in  sleep,  still  clasped  her  own,  and  made  up  her 
mind  that  to-morrow  night,  come  what  would, 
she  would  stay  by  or  near  him  the  whole  night. 
But  when  the  doctor  was  well  again  they  had 
some  merry  laughs  over  it  all,  and  he  was  able 
to  realize  then,  as  fully  as  his  wife  had  done  in 
his  illness,  that  he  was  a  most  unsaintly  patient. 

I  have  heard  of  just  one  man  who  was  as 
unreasonable  as  a  sick  doctor  can  be,  and  he 
was  an  old  sailor  who.  having  spent  all  his  life 
upon  the  sea,  concluded,  in  the  evening  of  his 
days,  to  marry  and  settle  down  on  shore.  But 
he  missed  the  sound  of  the  dashing  and  rolling 
waves  so  much  that  he  never  could  get  to  sleep 
at  night  until  his  wife  went  out  and  dashed 
buckets  of  water  up  on  the  window-panes  till 
he  was  soothed  off  to  slumber.  I  have 
often  thought  of  that  faithful  wife  as  she 
toiled  away  at  her  nightly  task,  and  have 
wondered  what  were  the  wild 
waves  saying  to  her. 

This   same   doctor's   wife  fell 


78  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

quite  ill  a  month  or  two  after  her  husband's 
recovery,  and  it  was  remarked  throng-bout  the 
bouse  how  very  much  easier  it  was  to  care  for 
her  than  it  had  been  to  care  for  the  doctor.  She 
was  convalescent, — indeed,  almost  well  again, — 
when  it  became  necessary  for  her  husband  to 
leave  home  for  a  day  or  two  on  business.  He 
came  down  the  evening  before  he  was  to  start, 
made  his  preliminary  preparations,  and  the 
family  retired  early,  in  order  to  get  the  doctor 
off  on  an  early  train  in  the  morning.  The 
doctor  soon  grew  sleepy.  Not  so  his  wife.  She 
was  meditating.  Just  as  the  first  faint  snore 
rose  from  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  a  quiet  but 
distinct  voice  said,  "Doctor,  won't  you  please 
get  up  and  heat  some  water  ?  I  believe  I  ought 
to  have  a  warm  bath." 

The  doctor  was  awake  on  the  instant. 

"Gee— whiz!      To-night?" 

"  Yes ;  I  think  it  would  be  best  to  have  it 
to-night,  if  it  is  cold,  while  you  are  here  to  help 
me." 

A   moment   of  silence ;    then   a   terrific   sigh 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  79 

rent  the  darkness,  as  the  doctor  slowly  raised 
himself  on  one  elbow.  Another  mighty  sigh. 
and  he  succeeded  in  gaining  a  sitting  posture. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  didn't  think  of  it  sooner. 
dear,  but  I  suppose  it  is  better  late  than  never." 

What  the  doctor  supposed  on  that  point  he 
hardly  liked  to  say  to  an  invalid,  and  that 
invalid  his  wife,  for  fear  she  might  think  he  did 
not  want  to  take  the  trouble  to  do  things  for  her, 
while,  of  course,  it  was  not  that  at  all.  Besides, 
his  own  experience  as  an  invalid  was  pretty  fresh 
in  his  mind,  and  so  there  seemed  absolutely 
nothing  for  this  doctor  to  do  but  to  do  as  his  wife 
had  so  gently  requested.  So  the  covers  were 
pushed  back,  and  slowly  his  feet  sought  the 
floor.  He  got  entirely  up  at  last,  took  a  few 
steps,  drew  his  breath  sharply,  and  remarked 
that  it  was  enough  to  give  a  man  the  lock-jaw  to 
step  on  that  oil-cloth,  lie  proceeded,  with  many 
a  grunt  and  groan, — not  wholly  involuntary, — 
toward  the  kitchen. 

A  voice,  ns  steady  as  circumstances  would 
permit,  came  from  the  bed:  "I  am  awfully  sorry 


80  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

to  trouble  you  so  much,  but  you  will  find  the 
tub  out  in  the  wood-shed,  on  the  other  side  of 
that  pile  of  stove-wood." 

The  good  wife  thought  she  saw  the  atmos 
phere  around  the  doctor  take  on  the  hue  of 
sulphuric  flame,  but  she  was  an.  invalid;  so  all 
she  heard  was,  "Good  God!  I  hope  you  don't 
have  to  have  a  tub  !  " 

Then  a  merry  peal  of  laughter  rang  out  on 
the  doctor's  delighted  ear.  He  understood,  now, 
that  he  had  only  been  asked  to  swallow  a  small 
spoonful  of  his  own  medicine,  and  came  back  to 
bed  a  happier  and  a  wiser  man. 

It  would  be  much  better  for  the  doctor's  wife 
never  to  get  sick,  if  she  could  so  arrange 
matters.  She  is  placed  at  a  disadvantage,  in 
many  ways,  by  getting  sick.  I  call  to  mind  an 
instance :  This  physician  was  a  very  absent- 
minded  man  in  his  waking  hours,  but  in  his 
sleep  there  was  nothing  to  compare  with  him. 
At  one  time  his  wife  was  ill, — hardly  enough  so 
to  require  night-watchers,  but  too  ill  to  get  up 
and  do  things  for  herself.  One  night  she  grew 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


81 


very  thirsty,  and  concluded  to  arouse  the  dothjr, 
if  she  could,  and  have  him  bring  her  a  gr 
fresh  water  from  the  pump.  After  exhausting 
all  ordinary  means  to  awaken  him,  she  took  the 
glass  of  water  sitting  near,  which  had  hecome  too 
warm  to  drink,  and  poured  a  little  of  it  down 
the  doctor's  back.  This  brought  him  up  in  bed, 
with  a  dazed  look  on  his  face. 

"  Doctor  !  Wake  up !  Listen  ! 
(io  out  to  the  pump, — pump,  do 
you  hear1?  the  pump ! — and  bring 
me  a  glass  of  water." 

The  doctor  got  slowly  out  of 
bed,  and,  to  his  wife's  delight,  took 
tiie  glass  she  offered  him  and  went 
straight  to  the  pump.  He  left  the  door  ajar, 
and  from  her  place  in  bed  his  wife  saw  him  set 
the  glass  down  under  the  spout,  as  lie  would 
have  done  a  bucket,  and  begin  pumping.  When 
the  glass  was  tilled  he  did  not  stop.  When  the 
floor  of  the  porch  where  the  pump  stood  was 
deluged  he  did  not  stop.  When  five  minutes  had 
gone  by,  the  doctor  was  still  pumping.  His 


82  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

wife,  who  had  been  alternately  shrieking  at  him 
and  moaning  to  herself  during  those  long,  slow 
minutes,  now  lay  quiet  and  resigned.  She  re 
alized  that  she  had  fixed  the  idea  of  pumping 
thoroughly  into  his  beclouded  mind,  and  that 
there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  lie  there  and 
listen  to  the  deluge,  and  let  him  pump  on.  He 
pumped  for  about  two  minutes  longer,  and  then 
came  in  without  the  glass  of  water !  The  poor, 
thirst-consumed  wife  had  to  sec  him  get  back 
into  bed  and  to  realize  that  he  had  not  been 
awake  at  all,  and  she  thinks  she  learned  that 
night  "how  sublime  a  thing  it  is  to  suffer  and  be 
strong." 

Illness  on  the  part  of  a  doctor's  wife  places 
her  at  a  disadvantage  in  another  way.  Any 
other  woman  in  the  world  has  the  privilege,  or 
ought  to  have  the  privilege,  of  choosing  her 
own  physician  ;  but  she  must  choose  her  husband 
for  her  physician,  whether  she  wants  him  or  not. 
It  would  be  a  very  delicate  matter  for  her  to  tell 
him,  though  she  do  it  ever  so  gently,  that  she 
would  rather  have  some  other  doctor  when  she 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  83 

is  sick.  She  would  ibel  like  the  colored  min 
ister  who  was  asked  by  a  gentleman  to  preach 
a  sermon  to  his  flock  on  the  sin  of  chicken-steal 
ing.  This  the  colored  brother  was  unwilling  to 
do,  giving  as  his  reason  that  it  would  be  "  ap'  to 
i'row  a  coPness  ober  de  meetin'." 

The  doctor  would  be  very  likely  to  look  at 
the  matter  from  the  stand-point  of  what  people 
would  think  and  say  about  it.  Such  action  on 
his  wife's  part  would  seem  to  him  an  open 
confession  that  she  had  more  confidence  in 
some  other  physician  than  in  her  own  husband, 
and  that  might  lead  other  folks  to  the  con 
clusion  that  they  had  more  confidence'  in  some 
other  physician,  too,  which  would  not  only 
be  very  humiliating  to  the  doctor,  but  would 
place  his  very  bread  and  butter  in  jeopardy. 
Thus  he  would  overlook  entirely  the  real  motive 
which  would  actuate  her  in  her  choice.  It 
would  not  be  that  she  had  no  confidence  in 
the  high  character,  both  moral  and  professional, 
of  her  husband,  but  that  she,  in  common  with 
her  sex  and  with  the  whole  race,  had  something 


84  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

of  the  innate  tendency  to  choose  the  physician 
least  known  to  the  patient  personally;  to  choose 
the  unknown  and  untried  in  preference  to  the 
tried  and  true.  How  often  does  the  unknown, 
with  the  mystery  that  attaches  to  him,  exercise 
a  charm  over  us  which  the  possibly  greater 
merits  of  the  known  have  never  done !  A  great 
many  people  never  stop  to  reflect,  indeed  have 
never  learned,  that 

"  The  distant  pyramids  of  stone 

That  wedge-like  cleave  the  desert  airs, 
When  nearer  seen  and  better  known, 
Are  but  gigantic  flights  of  stairs." 

They  do  not  care  to  get  near  enough  to  the 
pyramids  to  learn  the  secret  of  their  construction. 
They  like  mystery.  They  like  to  stand  afar  off 
in  awed  wonderment,  and  view  them  from  that 
distance  which  lends  enchantment. 

So,  if  there  should  ever  be  a  physician's 
wife  courageous  enough — or  foolish  enough, 
whichever  you  please — to  confess  to  her  husband 
that  she  wants  some  other  doctor  to  attend  her 
when  she  is  sick  (and  as  yet  I  have  never  heard 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  85 

of  her),  I  trust  that  he  will  look  at  the  matter 
exactly  as  he  would  if  any  other  of  his  patients 
expressed  a  preference  for  somebody  else ;  since 
there  is  nothing  in  her  composition  to  render 
her  entirely  different  from  the  rest  of  the  race ; 
and  then  he  can  go  on  his  way  philosophically 
and  undismayed,  as  he  does  in  other  cases  of 
the  kind. 

Then  it  is  a  disadvantage  for  the  physician's 
wife  to  be  sick,  or  to  have  her  husband  get 
sick,  for  another  reason.  I  have  heard  people 
express  great  and  apparently  sincere  surprise 
that  I,  a  doctor's  wife,  should  ever  get  sick. 
And  in  the  case  of  the  doctor  himself,  sur 
prise  has  given  place  to  open-eyed  amazement. 
I  have  sometimes  admitted  in  reply  that  a 
doctor  ought  not  to  get  sick,  of  course;  that 
he  had  no  business  to  do  so;  but  that. 
unfortunately,  he  was  constructed  about  like 
other  people,  with  the  same  physical  frame  and 
the  same  liability  to  sickness,  disease,  or  accident, 
with  the  liability  increased  in  his  case  by  the 
exposures  to  which  he  is  subjected.  While 


86  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

other  people  may  sweetly  dream  the  night  away 
in  their  warm  beds,  he  may  be  driving  along 
tli rough  storm  and  midnight  darkness  toward 
some  broken  bridge,  or  perilously  near  some 
deep  ravine,  or  he  may  be  standing  in  some 
hovel  where  contagious  disease  holds  sway.  No ; 
the  wonder  is  not  that  physicians  are  ever  sick, 
but  that  they  are  not  sick  much  oftener  than 
they  are. 

WHEN  the  doctor  is  sick  he  is  capable,  as 
we  have  seen,  of  growing  despotic.  Perhaps  one 
reason  for  this  may  be  that  it  is  only  a  step 
from  autocrat  to  despot;  and  when  he  is  well 
he  makes  an  excellent  autocrat,  as  many  phy 
sicians'  wives  have  occasion  to  know.  He  is 
so  accustomed  to  having  his  way  and  his  say 
in  the  sick-room,  which  is  right,  that  he  wants 
to  be  the  autocrat  of  the  breakfast-table,  the 
dinner-table,  the  tea-table,  and  the  time  between 
tables, — which  is  not  right. 

One  physician's  wife  cheerfully  testifies  (one 
may  as  well  be  cheerful  in  these  matters,  even 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  87 

though  the  cheerfulness  lies  in  the  testifying,  and 

not  in  the  thing  testified  of)  that  for  years  she 
has  gone  without  things  she  likes  to  eat,  because 
the  other  side  of  the  house  decides  they  are  not 
good  for  her.  Now,  if  she  were  the  wife  of  a 
lawyer  or  a  merchant,  or  of  any  man  but  a  phy 
sician,  of  course  she  would  and  should  rebel.  But 
a  physician  is  supposed  to  speak  as  one  having 
authority  in  these  things,  and  she  maintains  a 
becoming  silence.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  she  has 
had  her  little  misgivings  that  the  reason  certain 
things  are  not  good  for  her  is  that  the  doctor 
himself  does  not  like  them  ;  for,  in  the  occasional 
absences  of  her  good  husband  from  home,  has 
not  her  table  speedily  reveled  in  these  same  for 
bidden  fruits,  and  have  they  ever  done  her  any 
harm  ]  Some  day  she  means  to  confront  him 
and  put  him  to  rout  with  one  of  his  own  sensible 
utterances  made  long  ago,  and  doubtless  forgotten 
by  him ;  but  wives  often  have  inconveniently 
good  memories,  and  in  cases  of  this  kind,  where 
liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  are  at  stake, 
they  should  be  brought  into  requisition. 


88 


THE   PHYSICIANS   WIFE. 


Once  upon  a  time  a  good  while  ago  this 
doctor  was  called  in  to  see  an  elderly  lady  who 
did  not  have  much  the  matter  with  her.  It  was 
a  sort  of  pleasant  pastime  on  her  part  to  call 
the  young  doctor  in,  since  she  was  a  preacher's 
wife  and  knew  there  would  he  no  hill  presented. 
She  said,  when  the  doctor 
went  in,  "Doctor,  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  what  I  ought  to 
eat;  this,  that,  and  the  other 
do  not  seem  to  agree 


with  me  very  well." 

"How  old  are  you?" 
was  the  doctor's  blunt 
inquiry. 

Somewhat  surprised,  she  replied  that  she  was 
a  little  past  fifty. 

"  Well,  if  you  have  lived  to  he  more  than 
fifty  years  old  and  have  not  learned  for  yourself 
what  you  can  eat  and  what  you  can't  eat,  its  of 
no  use  to  call  me  in.  You  ought  to  know  better 
than  I  can  tell  you."  And  away  went  the  doctor. 
His  wife  feels  that  she,  too,  ought  to  know 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  89 

what  she  can  cat,  and  so  it  is  not  improbable  that 
a  new  regime  will  be  established  in  her  house 
hold.  Of  course  the  drowning-  doctor  will  catch 
at  a  straw  like  other  drowning  men,  and  will 
remind  her  that  she  has  not  lived  to  be  past  fifty 
yet ;  but  the  flood  of  her  steady  and  righteous 
persistence  will  sweep  this  straw  away,  and  right 
and  common  sense  will  yet  triumph,  as  they  did 
in  another  instance  where  this  autocratic  doctor 
lately  held  brief  sway. 

He  had  had  a  quantity  of  dirt  hauled  into  his 
front  yard  in  order  to  do  some  much-needed  fill 
ing  up,  and  had  it  spread  evenly  over  the  surface. 
It  was  not  long  till  several  do/en  cabbage-plants 
made  their  appearance  in  the  new  soil ;  some 
wind-blown  seeds  had  doubtless  found  lodgment 
there  before  it  had  been  brought  to  the  doctor's 
yard. 

The  doctor,  probably  acting  upon  the  assump 
tion  that  whatever  is  is  right,  said,  "  Now  we 
will  just  leave  these  here  and  have  some  early 
cabbage." 

His  wife,  having  in  mind  the  eternal  fitness  of 


90 


THE   PHYSICIAN  S   WIFE. 


things,  said,  "  No ;  when  they  get  a  little  larger 
we  will  transplant  them  to  the  garden  and  have 
just  as  early  cabbage  as  if  they  were  left  here." 
She  spoke  in  a  quiet,  matter-of-fact  way,  not 
dreaming  of  opposition  to  so  sensi 
ble  a  proposition.  To  her  amaze 
ment  the  good  doctor  declared 
very  emphatically  that  they  should 
stay  right  there,  and  he  himself 
was  going  to  cultivate  them 


there.  Then  the  wife  inquired  in  earnest  tones 
if  he  thought  she  was  going  to  have  several 
dozen  great,  flaunting,  ugly  cabbages  growing  in 
her  front  yard  ;  and  she  also  inquired  what  he 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  91 

supposed  the  passers-by  would  think  of  the  family 
that  lived  there,  and  of  their  taste. 

"  It's  nobody's  business  what  we  have  in  our 
yard.  People  can  look  the  other  way  if  they 
don't  like  it." 

"  It's  my  business,  and  I'd  get  tired  of  looking 
the  other  way  all  the  time." 

"  Well,  you  are  not  going  to  touch  these 
plants." 

"  Yes ;  the  plants  are  going  to  come  up  after 
awhile  and  are  going  to  be  put  where  they  be- 
long." 

The  doctor's  eyes  blazed  at  this  calm  defiance 
of  his  authority. 

"  I'll  raise  a  d — 1  of  a  row  if  you  touch 
them." 

"  Very  well,  dear,  /'//  only  raise  the  cabbage- 
plants." 

"Infinite  wrath  and  infinite  despair"  chased 
themselves  by  turns  over  the  doctor's  expressive 
countenance.  He  certainly  intended  that  the 
plants  should  stay  there,  because — well — be 
cause  he  had  said  they  should,  and  that  ought 


92  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

to  be  reason  enough  for  IKT.  But  lie  felt  so 
helpless.  He  seemed  to  be  realizing  how  very 
much  harder  it  would  he  for  him  to  keep  the 
plants  in  the  yard  than  for  her  to  take  them  out 
of  it;  how  very  much  harder  it  would  he  for 
him  to  stay  away  from  the  office  to  guard  them 
in  person  than  for  her  to  go  out  whenever  she 
saw  fit  and  take  them  up. 

Of  course,  if  she  would  only  manifest  the 
proper  fear  and  respect  for  his  authority,  the 
cabbage-plants  would  he  safe  wherever  he 
might  he ;  but  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  for 
him  to  do  but  to  utter  one  more  threat  and 
stalk  away  to  the  office,  feeling  as  he  went  the 
impotence  of  the  threat. 

When  he  came  home  to  tea  everything  was 
forgotten,  and  succeeding  days  were  as  pleasant* 
as  pleasant  could  be.  The  doctor  would  occa 
sionally  stroll  about  the  large  front  yard, — aim 
lessly,  of  course, — but  his  good  wife  would  smile 
to  see  that  he  always  cast  a  covert  glance  in 
passing  toward  the  different  spots  where  the 
cabbage-plants  ought  to  be  standing,  and  they 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE  1)3 

were  always  there.  He  began  to  have  some  con 
fidence  in  the  efficacy  of  his  commands  and 
threats,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  got  his 
hoe  and  carefully  dug  up  the  grass  for  the  space 
of  a  couple  of  feet  around  each  plant.  He  was 
beginning  to  cultivate  them  very  assiduously. 

]>ut  there  came  a  day  \vhen  the  doctor's  wife 
went  forth  with  butcher-knife  in  hand,  saying  to 
herM-lf,  as  she  proceeded  on  her  way,  "This 
nonsense  will  now  cease."  The  plants  were 
taken  up.  not  a  vestige  of  one  being  left  to  tell 
the  tale,  and  transplanted  in  goodly  rows  in  the 
garden. 

AY  hen  the  doctor  came  home  that  evening 
his  wife  was  singing  cheerily  in  the  kitchen. 
She  had  noted  his  approach,  and  hence  she 
sang, — not  the  least  particle  too-  cheerily,  not 
with  the  slightest  exaggeration  of  indifference1 
nor  with  a  single  false  note,  for  any  of  these 
tilings  would  he  detected  at  a  critical  moment 
like  that,  be  accepted  as  a  token  of  fear  and 
wavering,  and  subject  the  citadel  to  instant 
storming. 


94  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

No ;  this  wife  sang  just  as  her  husband  had 
been  accustomed  to  hear  her  sing  about  her 
work,  and  she  did  not  realize  until  afterward 
what  she  was  singing, — did  not  know  that  when 
her  husband  appeared  on  the  scene  she  was 
singing  about  hiding  till  the  storm  of  life  is 
past! 

The  calm  and  unterrified  demeanor  of  the 
singer  kept  the  doctor  silent.  But  who  can  tell  ] 
Perhaps,  noting  also  the  words  she  sang,  he  felt 
that  here  was  an  unconscious  concession  to  him, 
and  was  satisfied.  At  any  rate,  not  a  word  of 
wrath,  nor  even  of  reproach,  came  from  his  lips. 
He  went  out  into  the  garden  and  looked  at  the 
cabbage-plants,  came  back  and  spoke  very 
pleasantly  about  them,  and — it  was  all  over. 

And,  while  he  would  not  have  confessed  it  to 
his  wife  for  worlds,  yet  he  knew,  just  the  same, 
that  the  strength  of  her  position  lay  in  the  fact 
that  she  was  in  the  right.  She  could  afford  to 
be  serene  and  unruffled  at  the  time  of  his  blus- 
terings,  and  calmly  bide  her  time.  And,  while 
he  would  not  have  confessed  it  to  his  wife  for 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  95 

worlds,  in  his  inmost  heart  he  was  proud  of 
her  for  being  brave  enough  to — first  being 
sure  she  was  right — go  ahead. 

Physicians  are  sometimes  autocrats  in  an 
other  way:  they  may  be  too  careful  of  their 
wives.  Have  we  not  gone  forth  in  the  joyous 
spring-time  of  the  year,  when  the  birds  were 
singing  in  the  tree-tops,  and  all  Nature  was 
casting  aside  her  winter  garments,  swathed 
in  the  heaviest  of  cloaks  and  wrappings,  while 
witli  difficulty  \\c  lived,  and  moved,  and 
breathed'?  Have  we  not  had  roaring  fires 
built  up  for  our  comfort  and  enjoyment,  against 
our  strenuous  protests  on  spring  and  autumn 
days,  when  only  a  little  fire  was  needed,  which 
converted  our  comfortable  rooms  into  hot-houses 
and  caused  doors  and  windows  to  fly  open  on 
every  side  1 

Then,  in  the  morning  our  husbands  are 
solicitous  about  our  colds,  and  wonder  how  we 
got  them.  Of  course,  there  is  some  compensa 
tion  in  being  able  to  tell  them  how  we  got  them; 
but  they  are  often  a  little  skeptical,  for  after 


96  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

building  up  the  fires  they  go  to  the  office,  and 
by  the  time  they  get  home  the  fires  have  burned 
low  and  the  opened  doors  and  windows  have 
cooled  off  the  rooms  and  are  closed.  But,  never 
theless,  we  know  what  we  know. 

There  is  an  attention  to  little  things  and  a 
kind  care  that  husbands  may  exercise  over  their 
wives  which  is  always  pleasing  and  grateful  to 
them,  but  beware  lest  it  be  overdone.  From  a 
very  small  volume  that  lies  before  me  I  cull 
these  golden  words : — 

"  There  is  a  medium  in  all  things,  even  in 
the  manifestation  of  affection,  even  in  the  be 
stowal  of  kind  attention,  even  in  the  removal 
of  little  miseries.  Devotion  does  not  consist  in 
doing  for  one  all  that  can  le  done,  but  simply 
in  doing  all  that  may  be  agreeable  or  useful  to 
him.  .  .  .  As  we  all  passionately  love  our  liberty 
we  hold  to  our  little  eccentricities ;  we  do  not 
like  to  have  that  arranged  with  too  much  order 
which  we  naturally  leave  a  little  out  of  order ; 
we  would  even  not  have  too  much  care  taken 
of  us."  (The  italics  arc  not  my  own,  but  are 
quoted,  too.) 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  97 

And  now  I  would  like  to  add  that  I  am 
fully  aware  all  doctors  are  not  reprehensible 
in  tliis  matter  of  being  overcareful  of  their 
wives.  Then,  between  the  too-careful  husband 
and  the  one  who  cares  nothing-  about  his  wife 
at  all,  except  to  be  sure  that  she  gets  his  meals 
and  keeps  his  buttons  sewed  on.  should  be  found 
the  happy  medium  ;  but  if  we  are  not  able  to 
find  it,  by  all  means  give  us  the  overcareful 
doctor,  whose  failing  at  least  leans  to  virtue's 
side,  while  the  other  is  fit  for  treason,  stratagems, 
and  spoils.  Surely  this  language  is  not  too 
strong  to  apply  to  him,  when  Shakespeare  could 
apply  it  to  a  man  who  has  no  music  in  his  soul. 


I  HAVE  sometimes  thought,  when  reading 
slowly  and  delightedly  that  loveliest  of  pastorals, 
'•'The  Deserted  Village,"  that  when  Goldsmith 
described  the  village  preacher  he  was  not  far 
from  describing  the  village  doctor,  too.  This 
may  seem  at  first  glance  a  rather  peculiar  state 
ment,  but  let  us  sec  : — 


98  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

"  There  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose. 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose." 

The  doctor's  mansion  is  almost  invariably  a 
modest  one,  and  the  "few  torn  shrubs"  are  too 
often  partially  descriptive  of  his  place. 

The  physician's  wife  often  has  occasion  to 
bewail  her  lot  in  not  being  able  to  get  anything 
about  the  yard,  the  lot,  or  the  garden  done  when 
she  wants  it  done.  When  she  mildly  suggests 
that  such  and  such  a  thing  ought  really  to  be 
done  now,  the  doctor  says  he's  not  going  to  pay 
out  money  for  that  when  he  has  a  dozen  men 
already  paid  to  do  it. 

Well,  the  doctor's  wife  is  sensible  and  eco 
nomical,  and  she,  too,  would  like  very  much  for 
the  men  that  are  already  paid  to  come,  but  she 
has  observed  that  they  do  not  come  hurrying  to 
do  these  things.  Once  in  a  while  a  straggler 
drops  in ;  but  if  he  get  a  chance  before  the  day 
is  over  to  go  somewhere  else,  where  he  has  not 
been  paid,  away  he  goes  !  And  so  the  few  torn 
shrubs  in  the  doctor's  yard  are  left  to  their  own 
wild  will ;  the  grass,  all  unacquainted  with  the 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


99 


mower  or  the  scythe,  grows  up  and  flourishes 
like  a  green  bay-tree ;  the  jimson-weeds  in  the 
H'arden  wax  exceeding  rniglily.  and  the  mud- 
hole  in  the  lot  becomes  a  veritable 
Slough  of  Despond. 

But    then    our    own    and    the 
neighboring  children  can  have  fine 
games  of  hide-and-seek  in  the  tall 
grass,  we  can  blow  beautiful  soap- 
bubbles  through  the  long  blossoms 
of  the  jimson,  and  there  seem  to  be 
no    pilgrims     going    through     our 
horse-lot,  on  their  way 
to  the  Celestial  City,  to 
fall  into  the  Slough  of 
Despond,  as  Banyan's 
pilgrim  did  ;  and  so  life 
has  its  compensations. 

"  His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train, 
Hr  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved  their  pain." 

The  doctor's  house  (and  office)  is  well  and 
widely  known  not  only  to  all  the  wandering 
vagrants,  but  to  the  fixed  vagrants  of  a  com- 


100  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

m unity  as  well.  If  it  is  not  permissible  to  speak 
of  fixed  vagrants,  it  seems  to  me  it  ought  to  be, 
for  the  doctor  has  ever  near  him  a  large  and 
steady  clientele  of  that  class. 

Sometimes  it  is  a  vagrant  mind  which  seeks 
a  refuge  there.  One  summer  morning  several 
years  ago  a  crazed  woman  presented  herself  at 
our  door,  and  her  agonized  plea  to  be  permitted 
to  come  in  and  live  with  us,  to  escape  her  per 
secutors  at  home  and  elsewhere,  were  pitiful  to 
hear.  She  pleaded  long  and  earnestly,  but,  find 
ing  it  could  not  be,  she  said  she  was  sick  and 
would  like  to  have  some  medicine  to  take  home 
with  her;  they  would  not  believe  she  was  sick 
at  home,  and  would  not  have  a  doctor  nor  get 
her  any  medicine.  The  doctor  felt  her  pulse 
and  found  it  as  good  as  his  own,  then  fixed  her 
up  some  harmless  preparation.  He  brought  it 
to  her,  and  said,  in  a  very  impressive  manner, 
"  Now  you  are  to  go  right  home,  and  take  this 
just  as  soon  as  you  get  there,  or  it  may  not  do 
you  any  good."  He  put  it  into  her  hand  and 
she  started  immediately,  but  before  reaching  the 


THK    PHYSICIANS    WIFE. 


101 


gate  she  turned  and  said,  "  Maybe  I'd  better 
come  bad;  and  take  it  here,  if  you  think  it  would 
be  too  late1  after  I  get  home." 

The  doctor  \\as  a  little  disconcerted  at  being 
so    nearly  caught    in    his 
own  trap,  but  only  for  an 
instant. 

'•No,  it  won't  be  too 
late  if  you  go  straight  and 
.start  now." 

She  opened  the  gate 
and  closed  it  behind  her 
and  started  down  the  walk 
at  a  rapid  pace,  when 
she  happened  to  remember 
something,  stopped  short, 
turned  and  came  swiftly 
back.  At  the  ga te  she  opened  the  purse  she 
carried  in  her  hand,  took  out  some  money  and 
called  out,  "Doctor,  I  forgot  to  pay  you  for  the 
medicine." 

T  am  glad  to  say  the  money  was  not  accepted, 
but  T,  who  had  been  a  spectator  of  the  scene,  felt 


102  .  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

that  no  other  proof  was  needed  as  to  the  unnatu 
ral  condition  of  her  mind. 

Then  once  in  a  great  while  a  crazy  person 
comes  to  town  to  consult  the  doctor  about  some 
thing  and  just  concludes  to  go  down  and  see  the 
doctor's  wife,  too.  Now  doctors'  wives  are  not 
inhospitable,  and  yet  they  cannot  rejoice  over  the 
advent  of  lunatic  guests.  It  is  hard  to  entertain 
lunatics.  The  topics  they  converse  about  are 
such  unusual  topics,  and  there  are  such  sudden 
and  startling  changes  in  their  conversation  that 
the  poor  doctor's  wife  is  put  to  her  wits'  ends  to 
know  what  to  say  to  them.  Happily  for  her  it 
is  not  often  that  they  come. 

One  day  in  mid-winter,  when  the  snow  was 
lying  thick  upon  the  ground,  a  crazy  woman 
came  in  at  the  gate,  up  the  walk,  and  on  to  the 
veranda.  Then  she  stopped,  took  a  broom  which 
stood  beside  the  door,  and  for  the  space  of  half  an 
hour,  or  what  seemed  like  it,  vigorously  swept 
her  overshoes.  This  done,  she  took  them  off, 
and  then  a  thundering  knock  resounded  through 
the  house.  I  advanced  into  the  hall,  with  heart 


104  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

palpitating,  to  admit  her.  She  greeted  me  pleas 
antly,  and  I  greeted  her  as  cordially  as  I  could. 
I  saw  she  carried  an  old  satchel  and  was  almost 
sure  that  she  had  murderous  weapons  concealed 
in  it,  for  I  had  often  heard  that  she  had  solemn 
convictions  that  it  was  her  duty  to  kill  certain 
persons.  A  wild  fear  seized  me  that  she  might 
have  a  conviction  that  day  that  it  was  her  duty 
to  kill  the  hahy  cooing  so  innocently  on  the  hed. 
But  my  visitor  took  off  her  bonnet  and  sat 
down,  and  we — conversed.  She  said  she  had 
come  to  town  on  purpose  to  see  the  doctor,  and, 
after  she  had  left  his  office,  just  concluded  to  give 
his  wife  a  call,  too.  Part  of  her  conversation  was 
rational,  and  we  got  along  very  well ;  then  sud 
denly  it  would  stray  off  to  where  I  could  not 
follow  it,  and  I  would  sit  dumb.  The  dinner- 
hour  came  before  very  long,  however,  and  with 
it  came  the  doctor,  to  my  infinite  relief.  I  invited 
our  guest  to  come  out  to  dinner  with  us.  Swift 
as  an  arrow  she  sprang  from  her  chair  and,  with 
her  face  almost  in  mine,  she  said,  "Thank  you. 
I'll  be  pleased  to  eat  with  you." 


THK  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  105 

If  I  had  never  known  before  that  she  \vas 
cra/y,  [  should  have  known  it  then,  because  if  she 
had  not  been  she  would  have  hesitated  a  little, 
after  the  manner  of  sane  people,  and  said. 
"  Why,  no — I  guess — not";  and  then  I  should 
have  repeated  the  invitation  and  she  would  have 
yielded  reluctantly  and  said,  as  we  proceeded  to 
the  dining-room,  "Now  I  hope  you  didn't  go  to 
a  bit  of  trouble."  And  I  should  have  assured 
her  that  \ve  did  not,  while  at  the  same  time  her 
practiced  eye  would  have  taken  in  several  little 
signs  of  extra  trouble  and  been  gratified,  perhaps, 
thereby. 

But  this  poor,  wandering  mind  accepted  the 
invitation  without  demur;  its  owner  ate  her 
dinner  with  hearty  enjoyment  and  went  her  way. 
It  may  be  that  sane  people  may  learn  from  the 
insane  sometimes. 

"  He  chid  thtjir  wanderings,  but  relieved  their  pain." 

How  often  has  some  wanderer  from  the  paths 
of  peace — of  health,  morality,  and  virtue — sought 
the  doctor's  counsel  and  his  aid  !  How  gratefully 


106  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

they  have  received  any  aid,  any  relief  from  pain, 
bodily  or  mental !  How  respectfully  they  have 
listened  to  his  eludings,  knowing  that  he  spoke 
from  absolute  knowledge  of  absolute  facts  and 
their  results  ;  have  listened  while  he  told  them, 
in  no  uncertain  tones,  that  the  wages  of  sin  and 
of  neglect  would  surely  be  paid  by  death !  And 
when  he  has  solemnly  warned  them  to  go  and 
sin  no  more,  how  many  have  gone,  yet  how  few 
have  sinned  no  more  ! 

"  Unskillful  he  to  fawn  or  seek  for  power, 
By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour. 
For  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize, 
More  bent  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise." 

Rarely  does  a  political  bee  get  to  buzzing  in 
the  doctor's  bonnet ;  and  his  patients  may  con 
gratulate  themselves  that  he  keeps  the  even  tenor 
of  his  way,  and  leaves  these  outside  and  disturb 
ing  matters  to  those  more  to  the  manor  born. 

Among  the  eighty-eight  United  States  Sena 
tors  there  is  only  one  physician,  and  it  may  be 
that  he  had  retired  from  medicine  before  entering 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  107 

the  arena  of  politics ;   though  as  to  that  I  am  not 
advised.     But  his  is  an  "  isolated  case." 

The  doctor  is  much  more  inclined  to  keep 
clear  of  the  madding  crowd  and  to  do  his  life- 
work  in  a  quieter  way,  for  "  thus  to  relieve  the 
wretched  was  his  pride." 

"  A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  <k':ir, 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year." 

I  know  of  no  idea  more  firmly  implanted  in 
the  human  mind — at  least,  in  the  human  mind 
adjacent  to  towns  and  villages — than  the  idea 
that  the  physician  is  a  moneyed  man,  or,  at  any 
rate,  never  knows  what  it  is  to  need  money. 
Those  holding  this  most  erroneous  belief  have 
never  been  physicians  or  physicians'  wives,  nor 
relatives  of  either  physicians  or  their  wives,  else 
their  eyes  would  long  ago  have  been  unsealed, — 
indeed,  would  never  have  been  blinded. 

Only  a  few  days  ago,  the  doctor  of  our  house 
hold  was  walking  along  the  street,  when  he 
stopped  to  remind  a  man  who  owed  him  that  lie 
was  needing  money ;  at  which  the  man  looked  at 


108 


THE   PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


him  ill  unfeigned  amazement,  and  said,  in 
his  slow  drawl,  "  Why,  my — goodness,  Doc., 
you  don't  expect  me  to  pay  you  anything' ! " 
Then  with  another  amazed  look,  "  You  don't 
need  money ! " 

And  even  among  per 
fectly  honest,  upright,  and 
well-to-do  people  there  is 
often  thoughtlessness  in  re 
gard  to  the  doctor's  dues. 
Only  thoughtlessness ;  for 
if  they  knew  how  sorely 
lie  is  pressed  for  ready 
money,  at  times,  they  would 
hasten  to  settle  accounts 
with  him.  Just  here  I 
would  like  to  pay  tribute 
to  that  blessed  minority  who,  when  a  physician's 
services  are  ended,  pay  him  for  them  promptly, 
ungrudgingly,  and  uncomplainingly.  How  like 
an  onsis  in  the  desert  they  have  seemed  to  him, 
in  the  weary  march  of  life  !  Every  physician  has 
some  patrons  of  this  kind  to  keep  alive  his  hope 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  109 

and  faith  in  humanity,  but  always,  as  now, 
perhaps,  they  will  be  a  minority.  One  of  the 
brightest  and  most  sensible  women  of  my  ac 
quaintance  once  admitted  to  me  frankly  that, 
while  she  always  wanted  to  keep  every  other 
bill  paid  up,  she  had  often  thought  and  said 
that  it  did  not  matter  much  about  the  doctor's 
bill ;  it  might  go  a  year  or  two  longer.  When 
a  good  many  people  in  a  community  hold  the 
same  view,  and  a  good  many  others  pay  him 
in  commodities  instead  of  cash,  it  is  not  difficult 
to  see  what  effect  it  is  likely  to  have  on  both 
the  doctor  and  his  wife,  and  upon  his  wife's 
toilet.  I  say  his  wife's  toilet,  for,  come  what 
may,  the  doctor's  toilet  must  not  suffer  greatly. 
When  it  becomes  necessary  for  one  of  the  two  to 
dress  shabbily  for  a  time,  by  all  means  let  it  be 
the  wife!  Otherwise  both  may  have  to  dress 
shabbily  all  the  time.  Of  course,  the  manly 
doctor  will  protest  against  this,  and  then  the 
wife's  common  sense  must  outweigh  his  senti 
ment  in  the  matter.  She  must  assure  him  that  it 
is  ibr  their  mutual  good,  and  not  because  she  has 


110  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

not  a  proper  regard  for  herself,  or  because  she 
thinks,  for  one  moment,  that  she  is  less  worthy 
of  the  best  than  he.  No,  not  that.  Humility, 
true  and  unaffected,  is  one  of  the  loveliest  of 
virtues,  and  let  us  hope  that  every  physician's 
wife  knows  something-  of  its  meaning;  but  let 
her  never  know,  for  one  instant,  the  meaning  of 
servility  toward  her  husband  or  toward  any 
living  creature. 

She  will  say  to  her  husband,  "  It  is  business 
now  that  I  am  talking.  I  am  here  at  home 
most  of  the  time,  and  can  afford  to  do  without 
some  things  for  my  toilet  for  awhile,  but  you 
can't;  you  are  a  professional  man,  and  you  must 
dress  as  a  professional  man." 

It  is  not  respectful  to  the  women  or  the  men, 
to  whose  homes  the  physician  is  summoned,  to 
present  himself  in  untidy  or  worn-out  garments. 

All  these  so-called  little  things  have  and 
ought  to  have  their  weight  and  influence  in  the 
community,  and  the  physician  who  constantly 
disregards  them  will  come  out  a  loser  in  the 
race.  So,  if  the  time  comes  to  the  physician,  as 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  \VIKK.  Ill 

doubtless  it  has  come  to  most  physicians,  when 
he  feels  that  the  tide  of  fortune  i>  ebbing  a  little, 
let  him  not  grow  careless  and  indifferent  about 
his  personal  appearance,  as  men  are  prone  to  do 
at  such  times,  and  cause  people  to  say,  "  Have 
you  noticed  how  seedy  and  shabby  Dr.  X.  is 
looking  lately1?  He  is  losing  his  grip,  isn't  he  '." 
That  is  the  very  time  when  he  must  gird 
himself  for  battle  with  more  vigor  and  care 
than  ever.  Then,  let  the  wife  wear  her  seedy, 
shabby  cloak,  if  need  be,  for  another  season  or 
two,  and  along  with  it  other  articles  of  apparel 
to  correspond, — "•  the  distinguishing  badges  of  the 
profession,"  as  one  physician  has  jovially  put  it. 
What  matters  it"?  She  has  pride, — not  more 
than  other  wives,  I  think  ;  not  less,  I  hope ;  and 
it  will  buoy  her  up  until  that  "  good  time 
coming"  when  shabby  garments  will  no  longer 
be  a  concomitant  of  her  life.  And,  in  the  mean 
time,  she  can  be  looking  backward  as  well  as 
forward  for  hope  and  inspiration.  Her  thoughts 
can  revel  in  the  easy  and  delightful  life  phy 
sicians'  wives  must  have  led  once  upon  a  time 


112  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

in  the  Paradise  of  Doctors.  This  paradise  is  de 
scribed  briefly  in  a  little  volume  published  many 
years  ago. 

A  distinguished  physician  of  Massachusetts 
embodied  some  of  his  ideas  and  opinions  in  a 
fable,  which  he  called  "  The  Paradise  of  Doc 
tors."  In  that  golden  age,  physicians  and  their 
wives  went  with  firm  and  joyous  steps  along  the 
streets  and  into  establishments  where  commodi 
ties  of  any  and  every  kind  were  for  sale.  They 
went  without  money,  for  they  needed  none. 
They  exchanged  gilded  pills  for  everything  pur 
chased, — not  with  a  hesitating  or  apologetic  air, 
as  if  they  knew  in  advance  that  their  commodi 
ties  would  be  refused  or  scowled  at  if  accepted, 
but  proudly  and  confidently,  because  there  was 
an  eager — yes,  an  insatiate — demand  for  these 
gilded  pills,  and  shop-keepers  almost  fell  over 
each  other  in  their  haste  to  make  the  exchange. 
The  obligation  was  all  on  their  side.  Beautiful 
fable ! 

I  am  reminded  here  of  a  Russian  fable,  one 
of  Ivan  Tourgcneff's,  "  The  Two  Virtues," 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  \VIFK.  113 

which  is  not  too  old.  I  think,  to  hour  repetition 
here.  I  give  it  in  illustration  of  a  point  1  wish 
to  make  : — 

One  day  it  occurred  to  the  good  god  to  give 
a  party  in  his  palace  of  a/uiv.  All  the  virtues 
were  invited,  but  the  virtues  only;  and  in  con 
sequence  there  were  no  gentlemen  among  the 
guests. 

Very  many  virtues,  both  great  and  little,  ac 
cepted  the  invitation.  The  little  virtues  proved 
to  be  more  courteous  and  agreeable  than  the 
great  ones.  However,  they  all  seemed  thor 
oughly  happy,  and  conversed  pleasantly  with 
one  another,  as  people  who  are  well  acquainted, 
and,  indeed,  somewhat  related,  ought  to  do. 
Hut  suddenly  the  good  god  noticed  two  fail- 
ladies  who  seemed  not  to  know  each  other.  So 
he  took  one  of  the  ladies  by  the  hand  and  led 
her  toward  the  other.  "Benevolence,"  said  he, 
indicating  the  first,— —"Gratitude,"  turning  to 
the  other. 

The  two  virtues  were  unutterably  astonished. 
For  since  the  world  began — and  that  was  a  great 


114  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

while    ago — they   had    never    met    before.     The 

o  ** 

point  I  wish  to  illustrate  is  one  that  must  have 
fallen  under  the  observation  of  most  physicians 
and  their  wives.  They  have  occasion  to  know 
that  benevolence  and  gratitude  are  very  often 
strangers  to  each  other.  Physicians  have  gone 
through  winter's  snow  and  summer's  heat, 
through  rain  and  storm,  attending  patients, 
getting  nothing,  asking  nothing,  expecting  noth 
ing  in  return.  The  doctor  must  pay  the  drug 
gist  for  medicines;  often  he  must  pay  for  a 
livery  team ;  but  he  gets  nothing,  for  lie  knows 
they  arc  absolutely  too  poor  to  pay  him.  It 
sometimes  happens  that  time  brings  about  & 
change ;  that  these  same  patients  are  lifted  from 
poverty  into  comfort,  and  are  able  to  pay  all 
bills  of  every  kind.  Does  the  doctor  remind 
them  of  former  times,  and  of  their  indebtedness 
to  him"?  No;  he  does  not  think  of  such  a  thing, 
and  they  don't  think  of  it  either.  But  when 
they  get  sick  now  they  employ  him,  of  course  1 
No ;  when  they  get  sick  now  they  employ  some 
other  doctor !  His  services  cost  them  nothing 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  115 

in  the  old  days,  and  hence  they  put  no  value 
upon  them  now ;  probably  believe  that  the  doc 
tor  himself  did  not  consider  them  worth  charg 
ing  for,  since  he  presented  no  bill  and  no  duns. 
I  clip  the  following  from  a  recent  paper: — 

"Dr.  Warren  had  been  in  the  habit  for  a 
number  of  years  of  giving  professional  advice  to 
a  lady  in  reduced  circumstances,  whom  he  re 
garded  as  hardly  able  to  offer  him  any  compen 
sation.  At  length  she  ceased  consulting  him, 
and  he  did  not  sec  her  for  a  long  time.  Fi 
nally,  happening  to  meet  her  on  the  street,  he 
said  to  her:  'Why,  Mrs.  — ,  what  has  become  of 
you]  You  have  not  been  near  me  for  months.' 

"'Well,  the  fact  is,  Dr.  Warren,'  she  said,  in 
all  simplicity,  '  T  didn't  seem  to  gain  very  much, 
and  I  thought  I'd  consult  a  pay  doctor!"1 

It  has  long  been  a  conviction  of  mine  that 
it  would  be  better  for  a  physician,  in  all  cases, 
whether  he  expects  to  get  a  cent  or  not,  to  make 
a  fair  charge  and  let  patients  know  the  amount 
of  his  bill,  so  they  may  know  he  values  his 
services  at  something  more  than  nothing. 


116 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


Then,  there  is  another  form  of  ingratitude 
which  I  am  glad  to  believe  is  rare.  A  few 
nights  ago  a  man  presented  himself  at  our  door, 
for  whom  the  doctor  has  prescribed  for  years 
gratuitously,  and  actually  threatened  his  life  if 
he  did  not  go  down  to  his  house.  This,  after  the 
doctor  had  explained  to  him,  on  the  preceding 
evening,  that  another  physician  was  paid  to  do 
his  practice, — employed  to  do  the  practice  of  the 
poor.  But  threats  are  not  very  potent  weapons 
when  used  upon  a  man  with  any  courage,  and 
lie  calmly  replied,  '•  I  will  not  go  at  all  unless 
you  bring  me  an  order  from  the  supervisor." 
He  knew  that  would  settle  the  matter,  as  the 
supervisor  would,  of  course,  give  him  an  order 
upon  the  other  physician. 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


117 


Ingratitude  sometimes  takes  another  form. 
A  well-known  literary  man,  writing  from  his 
home  in  London  to  an  American  journal,  relates 
an  incident  which  he  says  has  heen  going  the 
rounds  of  the  English  press.  It  illustrates  so 
well  what  most  physicians  and  their  wives  have 
seen  for  themselves,  that  I  give  it: — 

"A  gentleman,  calling  at  a  friend's  house, 
finds  him  away  from  home,  and  goes  into  the 
drawing-room — a  newly  furnished  and  splendid 
apartment — to  write  a  letter  to  him.  The  ink 
stand,  a  gorgeous  affair  with  the  latest  improve 
ments,  'tilts  up,'  and  the  whole  contents  are 
spilled  on  the  delicate  carpet.  The  visitor  rings 
the  hell  for  a  servant,  and  points  to  the  evi 
dence  of  his  crime. 
The  good-natured  maid 
servant  admits  that  it 
does  look  had,  hut  says 
she  will  do  her  hest  to 
remove  it.  If  she  can 
erase  those  stains,  says 
the  guest  to  himself,  I 


118  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

will  give  that  good  girl  five  pounds.  She  brings 
soap  and  a  bucket  of  hot  water,  and  presently 
things  begin  to  look  a  little  better.  Perhaps  a 
couple  of  sovereigns  will  be  sufficient,  says  the 
guest  to  himself.  Then,  as  it  gets  better  and 
better,  he  thinks  half  a  sovereign  will  meet  the 
case.  And,  at  last,  when  all  traces  of  the  acci 
dent  are  removed,  he  gives  her — half  a  crown." 

It  happens  occasionally  in  the  doctor's  ex 
perience,  when  he  is  confronted  with  a  case  so 
grave  as  to  offer  little  hope  for  recovery,  that  the 
grief-stricken  father  or  mother,  if  possessed  of 
means,  will  say  to  him,  imploringly,  "  Doctor,  if 
you  will  save  my  child  I  will  give  you  a  thou 
sand  dollars."  The  doctor  can  promise  them 
nothing  but  that  he  will  do  all  that  is  in  his 
power  to  do.  Perhaps  on  the  next  morning  the 
patient  is  a  very  little  better,  and  the  tension  be 
gins  to  loosen  just  a  littlo.  In  the  evening  she 
is  still  better,  and  it  is,  "  Doctor,  save  her  and  I 
will  give  you  five  hundred  dollars."  By  morn 
ing  the  danger  is  considerably  lessened.  Then 
it  is,  "Just  get  her  well  and  I  will  give  you  two 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  \viii:.  Hi) 

hundred  dollars."  And,  finally,  when  the  pa 
tient  has  recovered  and  the  bill  is  settled,  he- 
gets — his  usual  remuneration — all  he  asked,  and 
all  lie  really  expected. 

Of  course,  in  instances  like  the  above,  the 
ingratitude,  it'  it  can  be  justly  termed  ingrati 
tude,  is  only  natural,  and  is  amusing  rather  than 
reprehensible.  Thus  fades  away  many  a  gener 
ous  impulse  when  time  is  allowed  for  its  consid 
eration. 

But  here  it  is  quite  different.  It  happens, 
sometimes,  that  a  very  urgent  and  appealing  call 
comes  for  the  doctor  to  go  and  perform  some  dif 
ficult  surgical  operation,  or  otherwise  relieve  the 
sick  and  suffering.  Sometimes  the  patient  is 
miles  away,  costing  the  physician  both  time  and 
money.  But  when  it  is  all  done,  the  household 
is  so  grateful  to  him  !  They  say  with  fervent 
tones,  and  mean  what  they  say.  "Doctor,  I  will 
pay  you  for  this  if  I  have  to  saw  wood  for  it." 
Or.  sometimes,  ''Doctor,  you  shall  be  paid  if  I 
have  to  wash  to  pay  you."  The-  doctor  goes 
away,  the  surgical  operation  has  accomplished 


120  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

its  purpose,  the  patient  gets  better  every  day, 
and  the  grim  spectre  no  longer  stares  them  in 
the  face.  Naturally,  the  fervor  of  gratitude  to 
ward  the  physician  grows  less  and  less  as  the 
weeks  go  by,  "decreasing  with  the  square  of  the 
distance,"  until  time  obliterates  it  altogether, 
and  this  faithful  servant  does  not  even  get  his 
half-crown. 

Still,  when  an  imploring  cry  for  help  comes 
to  him,  what  is  he  to  do1?  Unless  his  heart  is 
made  of  stone,  lie  must  find  it  well-nigh  irresisti 
ble.  When  a  human  being  is  in  dire  distress, 
shall  he  withhold  his  helping  hand,  even  though 
it  be  extended  to  a  vagabond  or  thief?  No;  at 
times  like  these  he  must  "forget  their  vices  in 
their  woe."  Often  it  has  been  with  the  phy 
sician  as  with  the  village  preacher,  that — 

"  Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
His  pity  gave  eve  charity  began." 


IN  a  conversation  with  a  medical  man,  some 
time  ago,   on   matters  pertaining  to   the  profes- 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  win-:.  1*21 

sion,  I  inquired  ii'  surgery  were  not  more  remu 
nerative  than  other  kinds  of  practice.  lie 
smiled  a  sod  smile  and  shook  his  head.  "That 
lias  not  been  my  experience,  and  I  don't  believe 
L  will  be  far  wrong  to  assort  that  I  don't  believe 
it  has  been  the  experience  of  most  other 
practitioners."  Quite  surprised,  I  inquired  how 
that  could  be  when  the  fees  for  surgery  were  so 
good.  "Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "it  does  seem 
to  me,  sometimes,  that  three-fourths  of  the 
people  who  meet  with  accidents — who  get  broken 
ribs,  broken  bones,  hands  mashed,  feet  cut,  etc. 
— are  charity  patients." 

"That  is  something  new  to  me.  I  never 
'i!  aril  the  theory  advanced  before  that  accident 
is  a  respecter  of  persons." 

"I  suppose  an  explanation  may  lie  in  the 
fact  that  it  is  only  the  poor,  those  engaged  in 
the  hardest  and  roughest  of  work,  who  are  ex 
posed  to  such  dangers." 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  There  isn't  much 
consolation  in  that  for  you  doctors,  but*  it  must 
be  some  consolation  to  the  victim  that  he  will, 


122 


THE    PHYSICIANS    WIFE. 


at  least,  bo  exempt  from  a  doctor  bill.  Perhaps, 
though,  if  these  people  stood  in  fear  of  doctor 
bills  as  well-to-do  people  do.  there  would  be 
fewer  accidents  among1  them." 

Not  long  after  this  conversation  I  was  stand 
ing  at  the  window  (it  was  toward  the  close  of  a 
dark,  rainy  day  in  February),  looking  out  upon  a 
dreary,  yet  a  lovely  world.  The  rain,  which  was 
part  sleet,  had  been  falling  ceaselessly  since  early 
morning,  and  freezing  as  it  fell,  till  the  whole 
world  seemed  dressed  in  silver  armor.  I  had 
been  looking  out  at  the  procession  of  passers-by, 
and  noting  with  some  amusement  the  efforts  of 
the  portly,  dignified  pedestrians  to  keep  their  foot 
ing.  One  man  went  down, 
glanced  rapidly  around  him 
in  every  direction,  then 
picked  himself  up  and  am 
bled  onward  again. 

After  awhile  I  turned  to 
the  cosy  fire,  seated  myself 
in  a  big  arm-chair  before 
it,  thinking,  as  I  gazed  into 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  123 

its  glowing  depths,  of  the  icy  pavements,  and 
wondering  that  then?  were  not  a  good  many 
broken  limbs  on  a  day  like  this.  Whether  I 
fell  into  a  light  do/e.  or  whether  it  was  only 
a  day-dream  that  came  to  me,  I  am  hardly 
able  to  state,  but  the  procession  still  kept  mov 
ing  along,  some  slipping,  some  clutching  at  the 
fences  or  the  lamp-po>ts.  or  whatever  might  help 
them  to  keep  upon  their  feet ;  but  now  the 
greater  number  were  falling  and  actually  break 
ing  a  leg  or  an  arm  as  fast  as  they  fell.  The 
victims  were,  without  exception,  well  dressed 
and  apparently  well-to-do  people,  while  the 
ragged  and  poverty-stricken  passed  safely  by. 
What  would  have  been  very  serious  if  only  one 
man  had  broken  a  leg  or  an  arm  was  irre 
sistibly  comical  when  several  do/ens  wen1  in  the 
same  plight ;  and  those  with  broken  legs  sat 
there  and  laughed  immoderately,  while  those 
with  broken  arms,  who  had  picked  themselves 
up,  stood  leaning  against  the  fences  and  laugh 
ing,  too.  (T  am  sure  I  must  have  laughed  aloud 
in  my  innocent  glee,  but  I  have  no  recollection 


124  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

of  it.)  I  saw  my  husband  and  all  the  other  doc 
tors  of  the  town  come  hurrying1  to  the  scene, 
and  they,  too,  looked  happy  and  well  pleased,  at 
the  same  time  struggling-  manfully  to  look  only 
solemn  and  professional.  As  I  ga/ed  upon  it  all 
and  its  full  significance  burst  upon  me,  my 
thoughts  and  fancies  took  on  a  roseate  hue. 
The  worn  carpet  on  the  floor  became  new  and 
soft  to  the  feet ;  the  faded  curtaiivy  at  the  win 
dows  vanished  away,  and  in  their  places  hung 
the  softest  and  loveliest  of  draperies ;  the  two 
rocking-chairs,  which  had  served  their  day  and 
generation  faithfully  and  well,  were  gone,  and  in 
their  places  were  two  others  of  more  modern 
style,  while  a  beautiful  new  cloak  came  en 
ticingly  within  my  vision.  Suddenly  I  was 
awakened,  or  startled,  by  a  loud  knock  at  the 
door.  I  sprang  from  my  chair  and  went  to  open 
it,  realizing  as  I  went  that  the  lovely  conjurings 
of  my  dream — or  of  my  fancy — had  vanished 
from  the  room,  and  that  daylight  was  fast  re 
ceding.  I  opened  the  door. 
"  Is  the  doctor  here  V 


THK  PHYSICIAN'S  \VIFE.  125 

"  No  ;   lie  hasn't  come  down  yet." 

"  I  thought  mebbe  I'd  tind  'im  at  homo,  as 
it's  about  supper-time." 

';  I  think  lie  will  be  here  in  a  lew  minutes  ; 
but,  perhaps,  you  had  better  go  to  the  office,  if 
you  are  in  a  hurry." 

"  \Vell.  I'll  go  up  there,  and  if  I  miss  'im  tell 
'im  when  he  comes  that  "Bill  Meeehim's  fell  an' 
broke  'is  leg.  and  wants  'im  to  come  right  down." 

I  closed  the  door  with  a  sad.  resigned  smile, 
and  went  back  into  our  dear,  shabby,  little  sit 
ting-room  ;  for  well  I  knew  that  Bill  Meechim 
paid  no  bills,  \vhatovor  such  intention  his  name 
might  imply.  'Then  I  sat  down  and  reasoned 
with  myself,  and  before  two  minutes  had  gone 
by  I  had  convinced  myself  that  I  was  glad  my 
dream — or  day-dream — was  not  a  reality.  For 
the  physician's  wife  is  not  a  malicious  creature; 
she  is  not  oven  uncharitable  as  distinguished 
from  the  rest  of  mankind.  She  doesn't  want  the 
well-to-do  people  in  the  community  to  break 
their  bones  or  otherwi.se  injure  themselves,  but 
she  cannot  help  wishing  sometimes  that  move  of 


T2G  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

the  people  who  do  fall  and  get  broken  bones, 
etc.,  were  able  to  pay  for  being  made  whole 
again. 

One  day,  when  the  doctor  of  our  household 
had  brought  down  two  other  physicians  to 
dinner,  we  had  a  little  talk  on  this  subject  of 
surgery.  I  happened  to  remark  to  the  elder 
physician  that  it  was  just  about  a  year  ago  that 
the  doctor  had  taken  me  out  to  his  village  to 

spend    the    day    with    his    good    wife    while    he 

i 

assisted  the  elder  physician  in  amputating  a  leg, 
or  the  lower  part  of  a  leg.    (I  use  the  term  "elder 
physician"  simply  to  distinguish  this  doctor  from 
the  young  doctor  who  accompanied  him.)    "Yes," 
said  the  elder  physician,  "  and  that  woman  gets 
around  as  well  now  as  she  ever  did.  if  not  better." 
"  She  wears  an  artificial  limb,  I  suppose  "?" 
"  Yes  ;  one  that  I  made  for  her  myself." 
"  You    made    it "?     I    didn't    know   a   doctor 
could  do  such   things.     Why  didn't  she  get  one 
ready-made  ]" 

.  "I  wrote  to  a  large  firm  in  Chicago  that  man 
ufacture  artificial  limbs,  telling  them  that  because 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  127 

of  the  limb  having  lain  for  months  in  a  flexed 
position  on  a.  pillow  it  had  become  partially  an- 
kylosrd.''  (Dear,  unprofessional  reader,  if  any 
such  there  be,  that  only  means  that  the  knee- 
joint  had  become  stiff  and  refused  to  extend  as  it 
should.)  u  And  she  also  had  bursitis  from  rest- 
in  y;  her  knee  on  a  chair  and  crawling  around  to 

O  O 

do  her  work.  They  replied  that  they  wouldn't 
undertake  to  fit  an  artificial  limb  to  a  stump  of 
that  kind  unless  the  woman  came  up  so  that 
they  might  see  it  for  themselves,  and  even  then 
they  couldn't  guarantee  entire  satisfaction.  Well, 
they  are  very  poor  people,  and  it  was  simply  out 
of  the  question  for  her  to  go  to  that  expense.. 
Then,  the  limb  would  have  cost  at  least  seventy- 
five  dollars,  and  perhaps  twice  as  much  ;  so  I  just 
said  to  myself, '  If  they  can't  do  that  job,  I  can.' ' 
No  one  knowing  the  elder  physician  as  I  do 
would  doubt  for  a  moment  that  lie  could,  and  I 
listened  in  deep  admiration  to  one  whose  skill  in 
making  a  patient  whole  again  transcended  any 
thing  that  had  ever  fallen  within  my  personal 
knowledge. 


128 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


"  I  made  a  plaster  cast  of  the  leg,  which  was 
about  this  shape": — (1) 

"  Then,  in  order  that  the  foot  should  accom 
modate  itself  to  the  flexed  condition  of  the 
knee,  I  had  it  made  so  that  the  whole  tiling 
looks  like  this":— (2) 

"You  see,  the  village  blacksmith,  the 
shoe-maker,  the  harness-maker,  and  T  put 
our  heads   together,  and  the  result  is  an 
artificial  limb." 
"But  where  is  the  foot?"  said  I,  looking  at 
the  drawing. 

"  I  haven't  got  the  foot  made  yet,  but  I  am 
going  to  make  it.     She  walks  on  a  block  now." 

"  Well,  great  are  the  resources  of  the 
country  doctor!"  said  I,  laughing. 

"  The  half  has  never  been  told  about 
the  country  doctor  yet,"  replied  the  elder 
physician,  with  a  smile. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  the  young  doctcr, 
"didn't  you  get  your  idea,  or  one  similar 
to  it,  from  Tom  Jones's  mule1?" 

The  elder    physician    turned    his    mild 
upon    the    young    doctor   in    gentle    rebuke   for 


eyes 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


1-29 


insinuating  that  he  could  draw  his  idea  from  a 

O 

?,  as  if  he  were  a  mere  veterinary  surgeon  ! 

"Tell  us  about  the  mule,"  said  I,  on  the  qiti 
in  an  instant. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  much  to  tell  ;  only  1  guess  Tom 
got  his  start  in  the  world  through  that  mule. 
He's  a  rising  young 
lawyer  in  one  of  our 
large  cities  now,  you 
know,  but  then  he  was 
a  poor  country  boy.  lie  f 
had  a  fiddle  that  he  had 
paid  a  quarter  for.  but 
he  came  across  a  fellow 
that  had  more  music  in 
his  soul  than  he  had,  I 
guess;  for  one  day  I  met 
him  leading  this  vonns;  mule  colt,  which  was  a 

tt 

cripple, — had  one  of  its  fore-feet  doubled  under. 

"'  Hello  !  Tom.  What  are  you  going  to  do 
with  that  mule?'  I  said. 

utl  traded  my  fiddle  for  him  and  got  a  dollar 
besides,1  said  Tom,  proudly.  Then,  seeing  my 


130  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

eye  bent  on  the  doubled-under  foot,  lie  said, 
'  Do  you  suppose  he'll  ever  be  good  for  much'?' 

'"Well,  I  don't  know;  but — I'll  tell  you — 
suppose  you  take  him  to  the  blacksmith  and  have 
him  put  a  brace  on  that  foot.  Have  him  nail  it 
to  the  bottom  of  the  hoof,  then  turn  the  foot  up 
as  far  as  he  can  and  fasten  the  brace  up  on  the 
leg ;  then  you  keep  tightening  it  a  little  every 
day,  and  we'll  watch  him  and  see  what  effect  it 
will  have.  I  believe  it  will  help  him.' ' 

"  Did  it  really  straighten  out  the  foot,  Doc 
tor  1"  I  asked,  deeply  interested. 

"  It  made  it  all  right.  Tom  sold  the  mule 
after  awhile  for  a  hundred  dollars,  which  gave 
him  a  start  toward  his  education." 

And  so  the  cunning  brain  and  philanthropi- 
cal  heart  of  this  one  country  doctor  caused  an 
unfortunate  brute  to  walk  instead  of  limp 
through  life ;  it  gave  a  poor  boy  his  start  in  the 
world ;  it  caused  a  poor  woman,  who  must  other 
wise  have  gone  through  life  on  crutches,  to  walk 
once  more  as  she  had  done  of  old.  Truly,  the 
half  has  never  been  told  of  the  country  doctor. 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  131 

As  one  of  the  trio  of  medical  men  remarked  that 
day,  he  must  rise  superior  to  circumstances;  he 
must  not  recognize  the  impossible. 

I  did  not  hear  the  elder  physician  express 
himself  on  this  point,  but 'it  is  more  than  proba 
ble  that  he  paid  the  harness-maker  and  the  black 
smith  and  the  shoe-maker  for  their  work  upon 
the  artificial  limb,  and  it  is  also  probable  that 
he  himself  received  nothing. 

After  he  was  through  with  his  little  expe 
rience  the  young  doctor  remarked  that  that 
was  a  first-class  case  of  talipes  equinns,  and  then 
went  on  to  say,  "  By  the  way.  I  was  called  to  see 
a  case  of  talipes  calcaneus  the  other  day,  which 
I  treated  by  tenotomy.  How  docs  that  strike 
you1?"  appealing  to  each  of  his  elders  in  turn. 

"Well,  said  the  elder  physician,"  that  might 
do  very  well,  but  I  would  prefer  a  plaster-of- 
Paris  dressing." 

"  If  the  child  was  very  young,  massage  and 
molding  the  foot  might  be  employed  with  good 
results.  I  believe  I  would  prefer  that,  or  adhe 
sive  plaster,"  said  the  other  physician. 


132  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

"  Where  doctors  disagree,  what  shall  the 
laity  do,"  thought  I. 

Then  this  same  doctor  spoke  of  a  case  of  lor- 
dosis  he  had  once  had,  and  this  physician  had 
been  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  due  to 
malposition  of  the  acetabula  rather  than  to 
tuberculosis  vertebrarum. 

And  so  the  talk  went  on.  I  only  sat  in 
wonder,  and  still  the  wonder  grew  how  three 
small  heads  could  carry  all  they  knew. 

My  little  boy  came  into  the  room  pretty  sooia, 
saying,  as  he  advanced  toward  me,  "  Mamma, 
what  is  the  matter  with  my  lip  ;  it  hurts  V 

1  scrutinized  the  lip  carefully,  and  then,  see 
ing  that  the  doctors  had  ceased  talking  and  were 
observing  us,  I  replied,  with  deep  satisfaction  and 
triumph,  "Why,  dear,  you  have  a  very  mild 
case  of  herpes  labialis." 

My  boy  was  disgusted  and  indignant,  and 
felt  that  he  had  been  imposed  upon  by  his  own 
mother.  Two  of  the  doctors  looked  a  little  sur 
prised,  and  one  of  them  greatly  amused,  while  I 
was  only  happy  that  once  upon  a  time  I  had 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  133 

learned  that  a  cold  sore  or  a  fever-blister  bore 
tliis  high-sounding  Latin  term,  and  that  I  had 
remembered  it  and  could  employ  it  now  in  very 
self-defense. 

Then  the  polysyllables  and  the  surgery  were 
dropped,  and  I  had  a  chance  to  inquire  if  a  case 
of  choking  or  strangling  ever  disconcerted  either 
of  our  medical  guests,  or  caused  them  to  hurry 
the  least  bit  in  answer  to  a  summons.  My  in-, 
quiry  was  based  upon  the  fact  that  only  the  day 
before,  while  we  sat  at  dinner,  a  young  fellow 
had  come  breathlessly  into  the  bouse,  saying, 
"Doctor,  come  quick,  my  uncle  is  strangling  !" 

"Is  that  so"?"  said  this  calm  doctor,  sitting 
perfectly  still.  "  Was  he  eating  anything  at  the 
timer' 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  agitated  messenger, 
looking  helplessly  at  the  motionless  form  of  the 
doctor. 

"Well,  I'll  be  down,"  said  the  latter,  as  he 
turned  quietly  toward  his  plate  again. 

Then,  in  low,  but  intensely-earnest  tones,  I 
said,  "Oh,  do  get  your  hat  and  go!" 


134 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


The  doctor  rose  and  went  with  his  usual  gait 
away.  While  he  was  gone  I  recalled  what  he 
had  once  told  me  about  a  little  hoy  who  had 
come  in  a  panic  of  fright  to  his  office  to  get  him 
to  come  quickly,  for  the  baby  was  choking  to 
death.  "All  right;  go  back  home,  and  I'll 
come,"  he  said. 

He  waited  on  one  or  two  patients  who  were 
in  the  office,  then  started  to  see  the  choking 
baby.  He  had  not  proceeded  far  when  he  saw 
the  figure  of  the  little  boy,  who  was  running  to 
meet  him,  and  a  happy  voice  piped  out,  "The 
baby's  unchoked !"  "  Is  it  ]"  said 
the  doctor.  "Well,  I  knew  it 
would  be  unchoked.  my  boy." 

I  thought,  too,  of  my  own 
baby  boy,  who,  a  good  many  years 
before,  had  sat  in  his  little  chair 
playing  with  a  large,  stiff-paper 
butterfly.  By  and  by  there  was 
a  terrible  gagging  and  choking, 
and,-looking  into  his  mouth,  I  saw 
the  butterfly,  or  a  large  portion 


TI!K    PHYSICIANS    WIFE. 


1)35 


of  it,  pressed  flat  against  the  back  of  the  throat. 
Frightened  beyond  the  power  to  move,  I  screamed 
for  the  girl  to  run  for  the 
doctor.  She  stood  not  on 
the  order  of  her  going, 
but  went  at  once,  over  the 
back  paling  and  across  "the 
branch,"  not  stopping  to 
go  around  by  the  gate;  for 
she,  too,  loved  the  baby, 
and  she,  too,  was  white 
and  breathless.  In  another 
minute  I  saw  her  flying 
form  returning  over  the 
fence  as  it  had  gone,  and 
honored  and  blessed  her 
for  it !  After  a  little  I  saw 
the  doctor  coming,  —  not 
over  the  paling,  as  that 
blessed  girl  had  done,  and 
as  he  would  come  if  he 
loved  the  baby  as  we  did,  but  leisurely  sauntering 
down  the  walk  the  longest  way  he  could  possi 
bly  take,  and  with  him  another  physician  who 


136  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

had  happened  to  be  chatting-  with  him  in  the 
office  when  the  summons  came.  To  be  a  wit 
ness  to  that  leisurely  gait,  and  sec  how  absorbed 
the  two  doctors  were  in  their  conversation, 
which  was  evidently  of  a  pleasing  nature,  was  to 
fill  my  soul  with  wrath.  To  be  sure,  the  but 
terfly  had  come  forth  just  after  the  girl  departed, 
and  the  baby  was  now  kicking  his  heels  against 
the  chair  in  high  glee;  but  how  was  he  to  know 
that  1  I  met  him  with  a  stony  glance  when  at 
last  he  got  in — but  in  the  midst  of  my  rumi 
nations  the  doctor  returned  from  the  strang 
ling  uncle  and  resumed  his  dinner.  lie  re 
marked,  after  awhile,  that  the  strangling  was  all 
over  witli  before  that  boy  got  here,  of  course. 
He  knew  that  when  he  came. 

"Well;  when  the  boy  was  so  frightened,  it 
was  agony  to  him  and  to  me  to  see  you  so  im 
movable." 

The  two  medical  guests  admitted  that  they 
hail  never  been  particularly  agitated  over  cases 
of  that  kind,  because  really  very  few  people  ever 
had  choked  or  strangled  to  death.  Then  the 
talk  drifted  off  on  to  the  subject  of  doctors'  bills. 


THK  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 


137 


Tins  subject  of  doctors'  bills  is  a  great  one, 
and  physicians'  wives  naturally  have  much  in 
terest  in  it.  To  me  it  has  always  been  an  absorb 
ing  theme,  and  often  an  amusing  one.  I  knew  a 


lady  once 
who  was 
fond  of  quoting 
to  a  physician  that 
old  saw  about  the 
three  degrees  in  a 
doctor's  compari 
son  :  Positive,  ill ;  comparative,  pill ;  superlative, 
bill.  I  happened  to  remember  one  day  that 
one  of  the  grammars  we  used  in  school,  when 
I  was  a  girl,  had  four  degrees  of  comparison, 


138  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

and  so  I  told  her  that  I  could  change  that  and 
she  would  like  it  better  still:  Diminutive,  ill; 
positive,  pill ;  comparative,  kill;  superlative,  bill; 
still  keeping  the  bill  in  the  superlative  degree,  as 
I  knew  that  would  please  her.  The  general 
public  will  always  say  the  bill  is  in  the  superla 
tive  degree.  The  general  public,  as  we  have 
seen,  will  also  do  their  part  toward  keeping  it 
in  the  subjunctive  mood  and  in  the  future  tense. 
When  Shylock  was  pleading  in  fair  Portia's 
court  for  an  abatement  of  his  hard  sentence,  he 
said,  "  You  take  my  house  when  you  do  take 
the  prop  that  doth  sustain  my  house.  You  take 
my  life  when  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  I 
live." 

* 

There  are  a  few  Shylocks  in  every  com 
munity  to  say  to  the  doctor,  by  word  or  act,  you 
take  my  life-blood  when  you  do  take  your  doctor 
bill.  Yes;  some  people  regard  the  doctor  as  a 
sort  of  gigantic  mosquito  let  loose  upon  the  com 
munity  to  draw  its  life-blood.  The  mosquito  has 
the  best  of  the  comparison,  for  he  has  only  to 
sing  a  little  while  and  then  present  his  bill  to 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  u'in:.  139 

have  it  met  with  assiduous  attention  ;  while  the 
doctor  often  lias  to  whistle  for  his,  whistle  long 
and  loud,  and  then  have  no  attention  paid  to  him 
at  all.  It  has  been  said  that  the  doctor's  bill, 
when  paid,  is  often  paid  in  chips  and  whetstones. 
I  do  not  just  now  recall  any  whetstones  that  have 
been  brought  to  us.  Perhaps  they  have  come ; 
but  as  I  seldom  use  a  l>onn  Jl<1e  whetstone,  I  have 
not  noticed  them.  (It  is  said  that  if  there  is. one 
tiling  Satan  has  not  succeeded  in  finding  out  with 
certainty,  it  is  a  woman's  whetstone.)  But  I  can 
certify  to  the  chips ;  they  have  come  like  angel's 
visits,  few  and  far  between.  Bean-poles  and  big 
green  back-logs  have  been  brought  to  us,  too. 
The  bean-poles  were  usually  too  short,  but  then 
the  back-logs  were  usually  too  long;  so  things 
were  equalized.  But  when  one  of  these  great 
logs  gets  to  burning  well  and  to  "  singing  again 
the  imprisoned  songs  of  the  forest,"  and  after 
awhile,  when  it  falls  into  a  bed  of  glowing  coals 
and  one  can  sit  within  its  ruddy  light  and  medi 
tate  and  dream,  she  can  be  very  "happy  there. 
Then  after  awhile  the  children  bring  in  the  pop- 


140  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

corn.  It  is  good  pop-corn.  The  doctor  said  it 
ought  to  bo  good,  and  it  is.  He  came  wearily 
home  with  it  one  day,  and  as  he  set  the  sack 
down  lie  said,  "  That  ought  to  he  good ;  it  cost 
me  twenty-six  dollars  and  a  broken  buggy." 

There  is  a  bunch  of  brooms  standing  in  a  cer 
tain  corner  at  our  house.  They  are  very  handy 
and  very  useful  things.  We  can  always  get  a 
new  broom  when  we  want  it,  and  new  brooms 
sweep  clean.  The  doctor  made  a  good  many 
trips  to  see  a  patient  two  or  three  years  ago,  long 
and  tedious  trips,  for  which  he  had  to  hire  a 
livery  team.  But  then  we  got  the  brooms,  and 
we  are  soon  to  get  another  bunch,  I  understand; 
and  if  we  only  live  long  enough,  that  bill  may  yet 
be  liquidated.* 

We  have  two  patchwork  quilts  fast  hastening 
on  to  their  final  dissolution,  one  of  which  cost 
nine  dollars  and  the  other  ten.  That  is  pretty 
expensive,  but  I  like  to  look  on  the  bright  side, 
and  it  is  better  quilts  than  nothing.  (I  will  add, 

*  Several  months  have  gone  by  since  the  above  was  written,  and  the 
second  bunch  has  not  arrived  yet.  By  the  time  the  last  bunch  gets  here, 
I  shall  be  as  old  as  ''  She." 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  141 

however,  that  I  don't  like  to  look  on  the  brig-lit 
sulr  of  those  quilts  and  always  put  them  on  the 
1><>(1  wrong  side  up.) 

Then  we  have  had,  at  long  intervals,  a  mess  of 
beans  or  beets  or  turnips,  or  a  little  bucket  of 
pickles  in  the  brine.  We  have  had  soft  soap  and 
an  occasional  load  of  sand  ;  an  occasional  load  of 
corn,  too,  which  we  needed  to  feed  to  the  pigs 
that  came  on  a  doctor's  bill. 

The  pigs  that  we  have  received  in  that  way 
have  always  made  me  think  of  a  character  in  "  Our 
Mutual  Friend."  Of  Sloppy  it  is  said  that  there 
was  too  much  of  him  lengthwise,  too  little  of  him 
breadthwise,  and  too  many  angles  of  him  angle- 
wise.  But  Sloppy's  redeeming  trait  was  his  good 
heart,  and  the  pigs'  redeeming  trait  was  their 
appetite;  so  they  got  beyond  the  point,  after 
awhile,  where  they  could  get  through  every  fence 
on  the  premises,  however  impervious  the  fences 
wen1  thought  to  be. 

1  was  about  to  say  something  of  the  horses 
and  cows  that  have  been  taken  in  on  doctors' 
bills,  but  there  is  so  little  I  could  say ! — unless  it 


142  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

might  be  to  assure  the  reader  that,  while  they 
have  never  been  conspicuous  for  youth  and 
beauty,  they  have  been  conspicuous  for  other 
qualities.  I  see  them  now  as  they  file  slowly 
past  my  mental  vision,  and  drop  the  veil. 

Book-agents  are  not  without  their  good 
points.  The  trouble  is,  people  are  un inclined  to 
talk  with  them  long  enough  to  find  the  good 
points  out.  Occasionally  a  book-agent  who  owes 
the  doctor  comes  around  and  offers  to  pay  him 
something.  If  the  doctor  will  just  put  his  name 
down  on  his  list, — for  the  influence  it  will  exert, 
of  course, — he  will  furnish  him  one  of  the  books 
on  his  bill.  So  the  doctor's  library  is  sometimes 
enriched  in  this  way  by  a  volume  it  never  would 
have  contained  otherwise,  and  which  remains,  in 
undisturbed  repose,  upon  the  shelf. 

Once  we  had  a  cane-mill  brought  to  us  by  a 
man  who  owed  the  doctor.  I  suppose  the  doctor 
looked  upon  it  as  quite  an  accession  in  the  way 
of  personal  property,  but  I  felt  quite  helpless  in 
its  presence.  I  knew  the  doctor  would  have 
neither  time  nor  patience  to  bother  with  it,  and  / 


THE    IMIYSiriAVS    WIFE.  14o 

didn't  know  how  to  run  it.  Besides,  if  I  had 
known  how,  we  had  nothing  to  pu£  into  it  to 
grind,  for  we  had  been  in  the  habit  of  buying  our 
molasses  ready-made,  and  had  never  raised  cai:e 
— except  in  those  transitory  domestic  disturbances 
which  are  liable  to  beset  the  average  household. 

O 

and  then  we  had  spelled  it  differently.  As  I  stood 
and  gazed  upon  it  my  thoughts  went  back  to 
when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  to  the  lovely  amber 
compound  we  used  to  get  from  the  grocery-store, 
which  was  labeled  "Golden  Syrup."  So  good 
and  thick  it  was  that,  as  it  wound  its  slow  length 
from  the  spigot,  the  clever  and  veracious  grocer 
who  stood  waiting  would  assure  the  customer 
that, upon  his  honor,  you  could  wind  a  gallon  of 
it  around  a  knife.  The  flavor  of  that  golden 
syrup  came  as  I  stood  to  haunt  my  palate.  And 
I  remembered  to  have  heard  the  assertion  made 
that  it  was  probably  made  from  cast-off  boots  and 
shoes.  Childhood  is  credulous,  and  I  accepted 
the  theory,  but  the  beautiful  golden  color  was 
always  a  mystery  to  mo.  But,  by  the  time  the 
doctor's  family  is  through  with  their  boots  and 


144 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


shoes  there  is  nothing  left  for  any  purpose, — 
unless  it  be  to  mulch  the  grape-vines  in  the 
garden. 

Then  I  bethought  me  of  a  remote  farm-house 
where,  once  upon  a  time,  the  hostess  had  passed 
me  a  glass  tumbler  with  a  peculiar-looking  com 
pound  in  it,  and  asked 
me  if  I  would  have  some 
of  the  persimmon  molas 
ses.  I  really  didn't  know 
whether  I  would  or  not ; 
but  curiosity  got  the 
better  of  me,  and  I 
dipped  out  a  very  small 
portion.  It  was  not  so 
bad  as  it  might  have 
been.  But  at  the  time  our  cane-mill  came  the 
persimmons  were  not  yet  ripe,  and  I  did  not  like 
to  warp  and  pucker  the  good  old  machine  out 
of  all  semblance  of  itself  by  grinding  them  in  it 
then.  So  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  do  but 
to  let  the  faithful  old  servant — which  had  for 
years  performed  its  allotted  task  in  the  world. 


TIIK  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

doing  a  little  extra  service  now  and  then,  per 
haps,  in  the  way  of  amputating  an  arm  or  a 
hand  or  a  finger,  yet  still  extracting  much  sweet 
ness  from  life  as  it  went — fall  into  disuse,  to 
rust  and  decay.  For  I  knew  we  could  never 
sell  it,  and  there  would  he  no  way  of  getting 
rid  of  it, — unless  we  could  pay  a  doctor  hill  with 
it  ;  and  physicians  are  exempt  from  doctors' 
hills.  That  is  one  hright  spot  on  their  horizon. 
The  only  way  was  closed  to  us,  and  so  it  stayed. 
It  is  a  long  time  since  it  was  hronght  to  us, 
and  it  came  upon  me  rather  startlingly,  not  long 
ago,  that  I  had  seen  no  traces  of  it  for  some 
time.  Perhaps  some  poor  deluded  thief  in  the 
night  has  stolen  it  away  from  us,  or  perhaps 
it  has  shared  the  fate  of  the  "  one-hoss  shay,' 
and  gone  to  pieces, 

"  All  at  once  and  nothing  lir-l. 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  I  hoy  burst." 

Yes;  doctors'  hills  is  a  great  theme;  and  if! 
seem  to  linger  long  upon  it,  it  is  only  heca in 
justice  cannot  he  done  it  in  few  words.  It  is  a 
snhject  constantly  he  fore  the  puhlic  ga/e.  One 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

cannot  pick  up  a  newspaper  without  seeing 
numerous  adjurations  to  the  people  to  avoid 
doctor  bills  by  taking  so-and-so  and  using  so- 
and-so.  (They  are  to  avoid  Scylla  and  choose 
Charybdis,  but  this  they  do  not  know  till  after 
taking.)  Would  that  that  part  of  the  public 
which  devours  these  flaming  advertisements, 
headed  by  the  faces  of  brilliant  and  benignant 
personages  only  anxious  to  benefit  their  fellow- 
mortals,  as  a  glance  at  their  pictures  will  reveal, 
could  realize  that  it  is  these  same  considerate 
advertisers  who  are  fleecing  the  dear  people  and 
carrying  off  their  money,  while  the  regular  and 
legitimate  practitioner  rarely  has  more  than  a 
good  living,  and  often  not  that;  and  this  after 
years  of  faithful  and  conscientious  study  and 
preparation  and  the  expenditure  of  hundreds,  and 
often  thousands,  of  dollars !  Would  that  they 
might  stop  to  ask  themselves  how  many  phy 
sicians  they  have  ever  known,  or  ever  heard  of, 
who  got  rich  from  the  practice  of  medicine  alone, 
and  hence  from  these  same  doctors'  bills  !  Would 
they  be  willing  to  live  in  a  community  without 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  147 

physicians  1  Let  us  suppose  a  case, — a.  very  im 
probable  case,  it  is  true,  but  it  will  answer  our 
purpose.  Let  us  suppose,  then,  that  the  an 
nouncement  should  suddenly  be  made,  in  any 
given  community,  that  all  the  physicians  in  the 
region  round  about  were  going  to  move  away, 
and  that  no  others  would  ever  come  in  to  take 
their  places.  1  think  there  would  be  much  con 
sternation  and  alarm  there,  and  that  both  friends 
and  foes  to  the  doctors  would  meet  on  common 
ground  in  imploring  them  to  remain.  Finding 
their  entreaties  vain,  I  think  the  whole  com 
munity  would  very  shortly  be  bereft  of  its  inhab 
itants.  They  would  go,  too,  and  settle  near 
these  bugbear  doctors,  and  place  themselves  in 
voluntary  jeopardy  from  their  bills.  There  is 
something  a  little  inconsistent  in  all  this. 


SOMETIMES  the  physician's  wife  meets  some 
interesting  people,  who  come  to  the  house  to 
consult  the  doctor  when  they  do  not  find  him  at 
the  office,  or  to  do  odd  jobs  about  the  place,  or 


148 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 


to  bring  something  to  him  or  to  his  wife,  when 
they  wish  to  partially  liquidate  an  old  debt ;  and 
though  the  astute  doctor  knows  that  these  things 
are  often  in  the  nature  of  a  conciliation  before 
contracting  a  new  debt,  yet  the  bird  in  the  hand 
is  always  acceptable  to  him. 

There  is  old  Uncle  John, — an  illiterate, 
uncouth-looking  old  fellow,  but  with  a  certain 
courtliness  in  his  manner  and  in  his  slow-spoken 
words  very  pleasant  to  hear  and  see.  One  gray 
day  in  the  autumn  he  knocked  at  our  door,  and 
when  I  opened  it  he  said,  "  Good  morning, 
madam ;  I  have  brought  a  load  of  punkins 
for  the  doctor,  and  I  don't  jist  know  where 
to  put  'em." 

"Well,  I    hardly  know,   either; 
didn't  the  doctor  tell  you    where 
he  wanted  them  putl" 

"  Yes  ;    he   said  somethin' 
about    the    oats-house,   but 
I   wanted   to   be   sure  of 
the  right  place  for  'em. 
I    looked    in    the    oats- 


V 


T11K    PHYSICIANS    WIFE. 


149 


house,  and  they's  two    or  three  little  rooms  in 
there." 

"Well,  I'll  go  out  with  you  and  see  about  it." 

Reaching  the  outs-house,  1  peer  around  its 
dusty  interior,  and,  finally, 
make  up  my  mind  that 
here  in  this  little  room  is 
where  the  doctor  probably 
wanted  the  pumpkins  put ; 
and  Uncle  John,  too,  thinks 
it  is  likely  that  is  the  place. 
(The  doctor  kindly,  hut 
firmly,  let  me  know,  when 
lie  came  home  that  night, 
that  that  was  nott\\e  place.) 

"  I'll  jist  move  this  wi-er 
out  of  the  way,"  says  Uncle  John,  as  he  lifts  a 
coil  of  barbed  wire  and  deposits  it  in  a  corner. 

I  go  to  the  wagon  and  take  a  look  at  the 
pumpkins,  and  one  glance  leads  me  to  ask  :  "  Is 
the  doctor  getting  these  for  cow-feed,  Uncle 
John?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  rightly  know  what  he  wants 


150  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

with  'em ;  but  I  owed  'im,  and  I  thought  I'd 
bring  'im  a  load." 

The  cow  refused  point-blank  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  them  when  they  were  offered 
to  her  for  her  evening  meal ;  which  astonished 
the  doctor,  and  made  him  feel  that  he  did  not 
rightly  know  what  he  wanted  with  them,  either. 

"But  what  is  that  queer-looking  thing  over 
there  in  the  corner'?"  as  my  eye  falls  on  an 
object  which,  from  its  size,  shape,  and  color, 
looks  like  it  might  be  a  cross  between  a  red 
sweet-potato  and  a  ripe  cucumber. 

"  That !  why,  that's  a — I  don't  know  what 
is  the  right  name  for  it,  but  tve  call  it  a — " 
(he  mentioned  a  name  that  has  hopelessly  gone 
from  my  memory,  and  it  seems  no  amount  of 
coaxing  can  bring  it  back).  Then  he  took  out 
his  knife,  opened  it  slowly,  and 'cut  the  object  in 
question  in  two  pieces,  scraped  off  a  little,  and 
handed  it  to  me. 

"  Taste  it,  madam  ;  it's  good." 

I  did  so.     It  tasted  a  good  deal  like  a  gourd. 

"  When  that  is   cut  in   rings  and  baked,  I 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  15l 

wouldn't  change  it  for  any  swect-potater  that 
ever  growed." 

I  thought  it  probable  that  Uncle  John  was 
not  a  connoisseur  in  culinary  matters,  but  only 
a>krd  him  if  he  had  ever  raised  any  "cnshaws." 

"Any  which?" 

"  Cushaws ;  at  least,  that's  what  I  have 
always  heard  them  called.  I  mean  those  crook- 
necked  squashes  that  make  such  good  pies." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Well,  I  used  to  raise  'em  a  long 
time  ago  when  I  first  come  out  to  the  perraries, 
but  the  soil  is  gettin'  woren  out,  an'  I  don't  try 
to  raise  'em  any  more.  They  ought  to  have  a 
purty  rich  soil." 

"  I  haven't  seen  any  of  them  for  a  long  time. 
I'm  very  fond  of  them." 

"  You've  got  a  nice  little  garden-spot  in 
there,  I  sees.  Git  ye  some  seeds  next  year,  an' 
have  Doc.  raise  ye  some";  which  kindly  advice 
causes  me  to  smile, — an  involuntary  and  know 
ing  smile.  Uncle  John  does  not  know  that  the 
gardening  at  our  house  is  done  principally  by 
"Doc.'s"  wife,  with  a  little  spasmodic  help  from 


152 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WJFK. 


a  man  or  a  boy  who  is  "  already  paid,"  and  she 
knows  too  well  what  that  means. 

"  I've  got  to  go  'round  to  the  picter-gallry 
when  I  git  through  hyer,"  says  the  old  man, 
presently. 

"  Going  to  have  some  pictures  taken  ?  " 
"Why,  I  dunno;  but 
I  reckon  they're  already 
tuk.     I  was  in  thar  the 
last  time  I  come  to  town 
axin'  about   it.      I  axed 
the  man  how  long  it  'ud 
take  to   git  my  shadder 
**.       struck    and    how    much 
*r\  he'd    charge    to    do    it. 


He  sot  me  down  in  a 
big  green  cheer,  and  told  me  he'd  see  about  it. 
Then  he  got  a  consarn,  with  legs  to  it  and  a 
blankit  over  it,  out  thar  in  front  ov  me,  and  put 
a  grabbin'  machine  behind  my  bed.  I'd  never 
been  in  jist  such  a  fix  before,  madam,  for  T 
never  had  no  picters  tuk  before,  and  I  was 
gettin'  pretty  bad  skecred.  Then  he  told  me  to 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  153 

set  right  still  and  look  at  a  hole  in  the  wall,  and 
look  pleasant." 

"  Well,  you  did  look  pleasant,  I  am  sure, 
Uncle  John." 

"  I  was  feelin'  mighty  onpleasant,  madam ; 
but  I  tried  my  level  best,  and  fetched  the  biggest 
smile  I  could  fetch,  and  jist  then  he  jerked  the 
hlankit  off,  and  then  thro  wed  it  over  the  machine 
again  and  said  he  was  done  with  me." 

"  You  felt  glad  it  was  over  with,  didn't 
you  1  " 

••  My!  hut  I  couldn't  'a  stood  it  any  longer. 
I'd  ';i  jist  busted  right  out  in  another  secont." 

"  Why,  Uncle  John,  I  never  found  it  so  hard 
as  all  that  to  have  a  picture  taken." 

"  Mebbe  you're  longer- winded  than  me, 
madam.  I  never  was  much  good  at  holdin'  my 
brenth  ;  I  can't  stand  it." 

The  good  old  man  had  actually  been  holding 
his  breath  all  the  while  !  I  tried  to  picture  to 
myself  the  expression  his  face  would  wear  in  the 
photograph,  with  the  "grabbin'  machine  "  scar 
ing  him  from  the  rear  and  the  "smile"  he  had 


154  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

"fetched"  when  in  imminent  peril  of  "  bustin' 
out,"  and,  as  soon  as  I  could  get  my  voice  under 
control,  I  explained  to  Uncle  John  that  it  was 
not  necessary  for  him  to  hold  his  breath  at  all, 
and  added:  "Now.  when  you  go  around  to  the 
gallery  to  get  your  pictures  it  may  be  that  you 
won't  like  them ;  and  if  you  see  anything  wrong 
with  them,  just  sit  down  in  the  chair  and  tell 
the  photographer  that  you  are  going  to  try  it 
again.  It  will  be  easier  this  time." 

"All  right,  madam;  I'll  jist  do  that." 
The  conversation  has  taken  such  a  friendly 
turn  that  Uncle  John  tells  me  now  he  can 
remember  seeing  me,  when  I  was  a  little  girl 
"  'bout  so  high,"  standing  by  the  gate  under  the 
locust-tree,  and  looking  out  between  the  planks  of 
the  fence  when  lie  would  drive  up  to  the  old  shop. 
The  old  shop !  How  often  in  recent  years, 
in  passing  along  the  street  which  led  past  it,  I 
had  paused  to  look  lovingly  at  its  time-stained 
and  smoke-blackened  shingles,  and  to  see  ngain 
in  memory  some  of  the  busy  scenes  enacted  there 
so  long  ago ! 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  155 

"  The  old  shop  is  gone,  now,  Uncle  John  ; 
torn  away  last  year,  to  make  room  for  newer  and 
better  ones." 

"  There'll  never  be  a  better  workman  in  'em 
than  the  boss  of  the  old  shop." 

I  thank  the  old  man  in  my  heart  for  those 
words. 

"  It  matters  not  what  one  may  do 
To  make  :i  nation  or  a  shoe; 
For  he  who  works  an  honest  thing 
In  God's  pure  light  ranks  as  a  king." 

And  musing  on  the  idleness  and  frivolity  in  the 
world,  and  on  the  dignity  of  self-respecting, 
honest  labor,  the  old  man.  the  wagon,  and  the 
gray  autumn  day  all  fade  from  my  sight,  and  in 
their  place  there  comes  the  early  twilight  of  a 
summer  day.  Far  off  and  faint  I  hear  the  anvils 
ringing,  the  dumb  metal  stricken  into  melody  by 
powerful  hammers  in  the  powerful  hands  of  the 
workmen.  A  little  girl  stands — oh,  gracious 
permission  ! — with  upstretehed  hands  and  blows 
the  bellows.  Never  before  had  that  sweet  priv 
ilege  been  granted  her.  She  does  not  know  that 


156 


THE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


it  is  granted  now  because  the  stress  of  the  day's 
work  is  over  and  they  are  closing1  up  for  the 
night.  And  so  she  "pumps  tire,"  and  her  little 
heart  is  radiant  with  happiness;  she  is  helping 
her  father  and  the  men  witli  their  work!  When 
her  father  smiles  down  upon  her,  nnd  tells  her 
"That  will  do,  now,"  she 
starts  eagerly  toward  the 
door,  to  run  home  and  tell 
her  mother  about  it,  and 
almost  runs  against  an 
elegant-looking  gentleman 
standing  just  inside  the 
door,  which  covers  her  with 
confusion.  The  gentleman 
has  a  white  lily  in  his 
hand,  and  he  offers  it  to  the  shy,  homely  little 
girl,  who  is  more  confused  than  ever,  for  it 
is  not  often  that  anybody  notices  her  at  all. 
And  he  has  spoken  so  pleasantly,  and  asked 
her  1o  stop  and  chat  witli  him  a  minute,  and 
has  given  her,  besides,  a  beautiful  flower!  The 
fragrance  of  the  lily  and  of  the  kindly  impulse 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  157 

have  lingered  with  her  through  many  years,  and 
is  around  and  about  her  now. 

Her  reverie  is  broken  by  a  voice,  which 
says : — 

"  Now  that,  madam,  is  jiuerally  a  monstrous 
sweet  punkin." 

She  looks  across  the  wagon,  now  emptied  of 
its  load,  at  old  Uncle  John,  who  stands  with  the 
golden  globe  poised  upon  his  hand. 

"  That  does  seem  to  be  a  pretty  nice  one. 
Please  put  it  over  in  the  yard  for  me ;  the  cow 
can't  have  that  one." 

The  old  man  does  so.  Then  comes  back  and 
closes  the  door  of  the  oats-house,  fastens  it  care 
fully,  climbs  into  the  wagon,  and,  with  a  bow 
and  a  pleasant  "  Good-day,  madam,"  drives 
away. 

I  go  into  the  house,  where  T  have  left  tin1 
lady  who  is  visiting  with  us  for  a  few  days,  and 
tell  her  that  I  have  enjoyed  a  treat.  She  knows 
that  I  have  been  standing  out  in  the  lot,  talking 
to  an  uncouth-looking  old  man  unloading  pump 
kins,  and  smiles.  She  does  not  know  that  I 


158  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

have  been  caught  up  to  a  Delectable  Mountain, 
from  whence,  like  Christian  of  old,  I  have  had  a 
glimpse  into  Paradise;  only,  the  Paradise  that 
Christian  saw  lay  just  before  him,  while  mine  lay 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  behind  me, — 
the  Paradise  of  childhood,  which  never  comes 
again  except  in  fleeting  visions. 

Then,  there  is  old  Jerry, — as  quaint  a  figure 
as  one  might  hope  to  see.  I  heard  a  gentleman 
say,  not  long  ago,  that  he  wished  the  Hoosier 
poet  could  hear  old  Jerry  talk.  The  Hoosier 
poet  could  make  him  famous  by  his  imitative 
powers,  whereas  pen  and  ink  are  powerless  to 
portray  the  peculiarity  of  his  language,  as  well 
as  of  his  utterance.  There  are  a  good  many 
words  in  old  Jerry's  vocabulary  that  are  new  to 
me,  and  the  meaning  of  some  of  them  is  quite 
beyond  my  grasp,  but  that  makes  him  none  the 
less  interesting.  He  comes  to  our  house  occa 
sionally.  Once  he  brought  me  a  gallon  of  black 
berries',  and,  seeing  the  doctor  at  home,  he  came 
in  with  the  remark,  "  Doctor,  I've  been  bavin'  a 
purty  hard  pain  in  hyar,"  describing  with  his 


TIIK  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFK.  159 

liand  a  circle  large  enough  to  include  several 
vital  organs;  "I  wish  you'd  see  if  you  kin 
ral'lato  the  reason  uv  it." 

••All  right."  says  the  doctor,  getting  up  and 
going  toward  the  old  man.  He  lays  his  hand 
with  some  pressure  within  the  territory  indicated 
hy  old  Jerry.  "  Does  it  hurt  there]  " 

"  Not  a  great  much." 

"Well,  does  it  hurt  here?"  changing  the 
position  of  his  hand  a  little. 

'•Oh,  a  lectio." 

The  doctor  presses  a  little  harder  in  another 
spot. 

"Look  out,  Doc.!    It's  touchons  right  thar!" 

"Is  it1?"  says  the  doctor,  with  as  unsmiling 
and  accustomed  an  air  as  if  that  word  had  been 
found  in  the  bright  lexicon  of  his  youth,  and  in 
all  the  other  lexicons  ho  had  consulted  since  his 
youth.  "Then  we'll  try  another  place."  And  he 
lays  his  hand  with  still  stronger  pressure  in 
another  spot. 

"Look  oi'f !      7/'.s  foiic/iniixrr  f/Htr!" 

The  doctor  says,  presently,  "  I  don't  believe 


160  THK  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

there's  very  much  the  matter  in  there.  I  think 
you'll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

And  old  Jerry  goes  away,  satisfied. 

Another  day  he  came  down  "  for  to  get  that 
thar  fox's  skin,  Mrs.  Fi-er-ball,  that  the  doctor 
was  a- wan  tin'  me  to  tan  fer  'im." 

Yes ;  we  had  a  beautiful  red  fox-skin  which 
I  wanted  sent  to  a  taxidermist  to  be  made  into  a 
rug,  but  the  doctor  said  old  Jerry  could  fix  it  up 
nil  right,  and  then  it  would  be  already  paid  for ; 
which,  being  quite  a  consideration,  I  yielded, 
though  with  some  misgivings  as  to  old  Jerry's 
artistic  abilities.  But  he  comes  for  the  fox-skin. 
It  is  a  real  delight  to  me  to  talk  to  the  old  man, 
or,  rather,  to  hear  him  talk  ;  so  I  have  him  sit 
down,  and  ask  him  all  manner  of  questions  about 
the  fox-skin,  and  he  enters  into  a  minute  descrip 
tion  of  the  process  of  tanning.  After  awhile  he 
says:  "Well,  I  reckon  I  had  better  be  a-movin' 
tv-ivards  home.  My  ole  woman  is  ailin',  an' 
mebbe  she'll  want  sumpthin." 

"  What  seems  to  be  the  trouble?  " 

"Oli,  I  don't  know.  I  guess  she  hain't  much 
sick;  but  jist  sort  o'  befigged  like." 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFK.  161 

Not  knowing  what  condition  one  must  be  in 
to  be  "  befigged,"  I  did  not  know  what  to  say ; 
so  wisely  said  nothing. 

The  old  man  went  on  :  "  Ye  see,  last  Chews- 
day — now  was  it  a  Chewsday  or  a  Wensdy?  It 
was  a  \Vensdy ;  that's  when  it  was.  Well,  last 
Wrnsdy  she  seemed  to  hi'  a-feelin' — no,  it 
wasn't;  it  was  a  Chewsday.  1  know  now,  be 
cause  Bill  an'  me  went  a-huntin'  that  day. 
Well,  anyway,  she  seemed  to  be  feelin'  as  peart 
as  common  ontil  along  in  the  cvcnin',  an'  then 
she  become  fer  to  be  chilly.  It  was  a-rainin' 
considerable  when  she  went  out  to  milk  the 
cows,  but  she  got  'em  milked,  an'  come  in  an' 
got  supper  nn'  washed  up  the  dishes,  an'  then 
she  tuk  an  ngerin'  fit  onto  her,  an'  sot  thai*  by 
the  fi-cr  an'  agcrcd  fer — well,  I  reckon  it  must 
'a  been  fer  nigh  about  an  hour,  and  she's  been 
a-agerin'  off  an'  on  ever  sencc." 

I  quietly  inquired  why  he  or  Bill  didn't  milk 
the  cows  that  rainy  evening.  Old  Jerry  looked 
at  me,  quite  surprised.  Evidently,  such  a  thing 

had  never  entered  his  head. 

n 


162  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

"  Why,  me  and  Bill  don't  never  milk.  The 
old  woman  always  does  the  milkin'.  But  I  must 
be  a-gittin'  home,  now.  I'll  bring  your  skin 
back  as  soon  as  I  git  it  tanned." 

Several  weeks  later  he  brought  it  back, — a 
sight  to  behold !  Pie  said  "  It  isn't  as  good 
a  job  as  it  mought  'a  been,  because  I've  been 
sort  of  bumfuzzled  lately  and  not  good  fer 
much."  I  knew  nothing  of  the  nature  or  symp 
toms  of  bumfuzzlement,  and  the  doctor  was  not 
able  to  enlighten  me;  but  I  felt,  in  a  dim  way, 
that  old  Jerry  ought  to  be  forgiven.  The  rug, 
which  was  to  adorn  the  floor  of  my  spare  cham 
ber,  lies  hidden  away  from  mortal  eyes.  But, 
then,  the  work  was  already  paid  for. 


LIFE  is  like  a  garment :  turn  it,  and  the  other 
side  is  quite  different.  We  have  been  looking 
at  the  humorous  side  of  some  small  lives ;  let  us 
not  forget  that  they  have  a  pathetic  side,  too, 
and  often  it  is  deeply  pathetic.  A  century  and 
a  half  ago,  one,  strolling  thoughtfully  through  an 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  163 

old  English  church-yard,  saw  so  clearly  the 
pathetic  side  to  lives  long  hefore  gone  out  that 
he  was  inspired  by  it  to  write  the  most  perfect 
poem  in  our  language.  And  in  that  poem  he 
has  said : — 

"  Let  not  ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 

Their  homely  joys  :iml  destiny  obscure; 
Nor  grandeur  heur  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor." 

Illy,  indeed,  have  T  written,  if  in  these  short 
"annals  of  the  poor"  I  have  provoked  a  single 
(?!fi(7<ih)ful  smile.  Poverty,  in  itself,  is  a  weary 
thing.  It  bows  the  heart  and  dulls  (lie  brain  ; 
and  when  with  it  are  linked  sickness  and  misfor 
tune,  we  have  a  gaunt  and  fearful  trio.  The 
physician's  wife  sometimes  has  occasion  to  see 
this  other  side  of  life,  and  to  become  very 
thoughtful  about  it. 

Some  bright  morning  in  April,  when  the  air 
is  delightful,  the  birds  arc  singing,  and  all  nature 
seems  as  happy  as  they,  she  gets  into  the  car 
riage  with  her  husband  and  starts  out  for  a 
drive.  The  doctor  tells  her  to  get  all  the  pleas- 


164  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

ure  she  can  out  of  the  trip,  because  he  will  not 
get  anything'  ont  of  it.  Of  course,  the  doctor 
does  not  mean  to  insinuate  that  it  would  natu 
rally  be  more  of  a  pleasure  for  his  wife  to  ride 
with  him  than  for  him  to  ride  with  her;  he 
only  means  that  he  will  not  get  any  money  out 
of  it. 

"  It  is  all  charity  work  to-day,  but  the  roads 
are  good,  and  I  think  I  can  be  back  at  the  office 
in  less  than  three  hours." 

"  When  you  get  back,"  says  the  wife,  "  you 
will  probably  find  that  you  have  missed  one  or 
two  good  calls." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  that  often  happens.  It  does  make 
a  fellow  feel  out  of  sorts  sometimes  to  get  back 
from  a  trip  that  doesn't  pay  him  a  cent,  to  find 
that  some  good  patron  has  gone  to  another  phy 
sician  in  his  absence.  But,  then,  we  all  have 
the  same  experience." 

"  Doctors,  then,  never  feel  any  elation  in 
getting  each  other's  patients'?  I  mean  in  getting 
them  in  that  way." 

"What's    the    use    to   feel   elated"?     W^e  all 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  165 

know  tluit  people  are  very  apt  to  go  back  to 
their  own  family  physician." 

"Yes,  when  they  have  their  own  family  phy 
sician.  It  seems  to  me  it  used  to  he  the  custom, 
more  than  at  present,  lor  people  to  have  a  family 
physician,  and  «ln:ays  go  to  him  in  sickness." 

"  Well,  whether  or  not  it  makes  much  differ 
ence  about  the  doctors,  it  is  always  a  great  pleas 
ure  to  practice  for  people  who  really  want  you, 
and  believe  in  you.  It  is  so  refreshing  to  find 
people  anxious  to  do  as  you  say,  and  not  all  the 
time  advancing  theories  of  their  own  as  to  the 
efficacy  of  this  mode  or  that  mode  of  treatment, 
or  of  these  or  those  medicines." 

"That  reminds  me  of  questions  I  have  some 
times  been  asked  because  I  am  a  doctor's  wife, 
and  therefore  ought  to  know.  When  Mrs.  Y.'s 
little  child  \vas  sick  she  told  me  what  the  doctor 
\\;is  doing,  and  said  she  did  not  like  it  at  all. 
You  were  not  their  doctor,  my  dear,  or  her  com 
plaints  would  have  been  made  to  some  other 
woman.  She  asked  me  what  I  thought  about 
the  treatment.  I  told  her  that  I  knew  nothing 


166  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

whatever  about  it,  but  that  all  my  life  I  had 
thought  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  obey  the  at 
tending  physician's  instructions  to  the  letter,  and 
that  I  wanted  all  the  responsibility  to  rest  upon 
him,  as  I  did  not  feel  able  or  willing  to  shoulder 
it  myself.  I  saw  that  my  words  had  made  a 
favorable  impression,  and  then  added,  quictlys 
and  a  little  slyly,  'Of  course,  the  physician  may 
not  know  any  more  about  it  than  I  do ;  perhaps 
not  as  mucli ;  but  I  cannot  help  remembering 
that  he  has  had  every  chance  to  kuovv  more ; 
that  he  has  given  years  of  str.dy  to  sickness  and 
disease,  and  ought  to  knew  more;  and  so  I  let 
him  take  the  responsibility." 

By  and  by  they  reach  the  little  house  where 
the  doctor  is  to  nidvo  his  first  call,  and,  as  the 
sun  is  beginning  to  beat  clown  pretty  fiercely, 
his  wife  concludes  to  go  in  to  escape  from  its 
rays  for  awhile. 

A  young  girl,  perhaps  fourteen  or  fifteen 
years  of  age,  tosses  deliriously  upon  a  miserable 
bed.  She  calls  continuously  for  her  mother,  who 
is  beside  her,  but  she  does  not  seem  to  know  it. 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  \VIFE.  167 

The  lather,  looking  stolid  and  indifferent,  sits  in 
the  farther  part  of  the  room.  The  doctor,  who 
has  been  attending  the  patient  for  several  d;iys, 
finds  her  fever  much  higher  than  he  had  expected 
this  morning,  and  turns  sharply  to  the  mother, 
"  Have  you  given  those  powders  just  as  I  told 
you?"  "Yes — that  is,  I  give  'em  like  you  said 
till  her  fever  begun  to  come  up,  and  then  some 
of  the  neighbors  said  they  ought  to  be  stopped, 
or  they'd  make  her  worse." 

"The  devil  1lt<'u  did!" 

The  doctor's  eyes  blaze,  and  the  poor,  tired 
woman  hastens  to  tell  him,  in  a  trembling  way, 
that  she  only  wanted  to  do  what  was  right,  and 
that,  when  they  told  her  she  ought  not  to  give 
the  powders  when  the  girl  had  fever,  she  was 
worried  and  didn't  know  what  to  do. 

"Now,  listen  to  me,"  says  the  doctd.  "Do 
what  /  tell  you  to  do.  If  you  are  not  going  to 
give  that  girl  a  chance  to  get  well,  it  is  no  use 
for  me  to  waste  my  time  in  coming  out  !.ere.  I 
haven't  the  time  to  throw  away.  It's  going  to 
be  a  hard  pull  if  she  gets  through  if  we  do  the 


1G8  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

best  for  her  that  we  possibly  can.  Now,  are 
you  going  to  obey  instructions,  or  do  you  want 
me  to  quit  coming'?" 

The  poor,  harassed  woman  replies,  with 
quivering  voice,  "  I'll  do  exactly  what  you  tell 
me,  Doctor,  from  this  on,  and  you'll  see  that  I 
will." 

As  they  start  away  the  doctor's  wife,  who  is 
a  mother,  too,  pauses  by  the  other  mother's  side 
long  enough  to  say,  very  gently,  that  she  hopes 
her  daughter  will  soon  be  better,  and  sees  the 
grateful  tears  spring  to  the  tired  woman's  eyes. 
When  they  are  in  the  buggy,  and  have  started 
on,  the  doctor  points  to  a  poor,  shaggy-looking 
cow  standing  in  the  field  near  by. 

"  There's  the  cow  they  promised  me  if  I'd 
see  this  case  through ;  but  they'll  forget  all  about 
it,  or  elst  they'll  tell  such  a  pitiful  story  that  I'll 
tell  them  to  keep  her." 

And  the  wife — thinking  of  the  abject  poverty 
within  ar.d  without,  and  that  if  the  cow  is  taken 
the  three  little  children  peeping  at  them  from  be 
hind  the  house  will  suffer  most  of  all — inwardly 


170  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

says  I  hope  they  will  never  pay  it,  if  it  has  to  be 
paid  in  that  way.  Outwardly  she  says,  cau 
tiously  feeling  her  way  to  see  how  far  it  is  well 
to  go,  "Doctor,  I  don't  think  you  did  quite 
right,  just  now." 

"What  about ?" 

"  Speaking  so  harshly  to  that  poor  woman." 

lie  admits  that  he  is  a  little  ashamed,  hut 
what  is  a  man  to  do  in  such  cases  1  Besides,  the 
end  justifies  the  means,  and  it  had  the  desired 
effect. 

"  Yes ;  hut  it  is  the  principle  I  am  thinking 
of.  I  believe  in  having  the  '  punishment  fit  the 
crime,'  whoever  is  the  perpetrator,  except  that 
if  there  is  any  leniency  it  ought  to  be  exercised 
toward  the  weak  and  the  ignorant." 

O 

"  Go  on.  I  have  been  thinking  of  taking  a 
course  of  lectures,  anyway." 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  had  a  patient  in  that 
fine  farm-house  yonder,  and  the  lady  of  the 
house  had  done  exactly  the  same  thing  that  that 
poor  woman  did,  would  you  have  spoken  to  her 
in  exactly  the  same  way  T' 


THK  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  171 

"Well— 1  don't  know.  It  isn't  very  likely 
that  she  would  have  done  a  thing  like  that." 

"  You  evade  the  question,  I  see  ;  but  I  know 
what  you  would  have  done.  You  would  have 
told  her,  in  a  firm  but  courteous  way,  that  the 
patient  would  have  been  better  ii'  the  medicine 
had  been  given  as  directed,  and  that  it  is  not 
giving  the  doctor  a  fair  chance  not  to  follow  his 
instructions,  etc.  Come,  confess  now ;  wouldn't 
your' 

The  doctor  smiles  at  this  close  questioning ; 
then  says,  "  I'd  be  able  to  see  a  bill  at  the  end 
of  that  case,  you  know." 

"  Exactly.  It  is  only  the  principle  I  am  talk 
ing  about.  Now,  I  wouldn't  want  you  to  talk  to 
the  mistress  of  the  elegant  house  exactly  as  you 
did  to  the  other;  that  wouldn't  be  good  busi 
ness  ;  but  I  don't  want  you  to  talk  so  savagely  to 
the  poor  and  ignorant  woman,  either.  I  think 
you  could  have  attained  the  same  end  by  gentler 
means." 

The  lecture,  which  both  have  really  enjoyed, 
is  cut  short  here.  They  are  approaching  a  little 


172  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

house  where  a  woman  stands  at  the  gate  evi 
dently  waiting  for  the  doctor. 

"  I  seen  ye  go  past  awhile  ago,  Doctor,  and 
watched  for  ye  as  ye  went  hack." 

"What  is  the  trouble]" 

"  I  wish  ye'd  come  in  and  see  the  folks  here. 
They're  in  an-  awful  bad  shape." 

"  Have  they  had  any  doctor  waiting  on 
them?" 

"  No,  sir ;  they  sent  for  two  different  doctors 
two  or  three  days  ago,  but  neither  one  of  'em 
would  come  unless  they  sent  the  money  first, 
and  they  couldn't  send  it,  for  they  hain't  got  a 
cent  in  the  house." 

The  doctor  hands  the  reins  to  his  wife,  gets 
out  of  the  buggy,  takes  his  case,  and  goes  in. 
After  awhile  he  comes  out,  looking  very  sober, 
and  they  resume  their  way  for  a  few  minutes  in 
silence.  Then  he  speaks. 

"  I  am  glad  you  didn't  see  what  I  have  just 
seen." 

"  Why,  was  it  so  bad  V1 

"  One  filthy   bed ;   a    man,  desperately   sick 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  173 

with  pneumonia,  lying  upon  it;  his  wife,  in  the 
last  stage  of  consumption,  lying  hesido  him  ; 
and  a  little  girl,  six  or  seven  years  old,  with 
pneumonia,  tit  the  loot,  I  am  used  to  hard 
sights,  but  I  don't  often  see  anything  so  bad  as 
that." 

The  doctor's  wife  shudders  and  hides  her 
fare  in  her  hands  for  a  moment,  as  if»to  shut  out 
the  awful  picture. 

"  Is  there  nobody  to  do  anything  for  them  T' 

"Nobody  but  the  neighbors,  and  they  arc 
miserably  poor,  too,  and  have  their  own  work  to 
do  at  home." 

The  sunshine  has  lost  part  of  its  brilliance 
for  the  doctor  and  his  wife,  and  they  drive  on  in 
silence,  both  lost  in  meditation  on  the  things 
that  are,  and,  to  their  finite  vision,  ought  not 
to  be. 

A  drive  of  two  miles  brings  them  to  the  other 
objective  point  of  the  trip,  and  together  they 
enter  the  little  room, — so  poor,  so  bare,  and  yet 
so  clean.  Here  the  patient  is  a  little  child,  and 
a  very  sick  child  it  is.  The  mother  sits  with 


174  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

the  baby  in  her  arms,  looking  down  with  in 
effable  love  and  tenderness  into  the  little  face,  all 
unconscious  of  her  gn/c,  while  her  toil-hardened 
hand  rests  now  and  again  upon  the  fevered  brow. 
When  the  visit  has  been  paid  and  they  are 
well  on  their  homeward  way,  the  thoughts  of 
the  doctor's  wife  still  linger  in  the  little  room, 
where  very  soon  the  angel  with  the  amaranthine 
wreath  will  come.  There  is  a  look  on  the  face 
of  the  patient,  overworked  mother,  bending  so 
tenderly  over  her  helpless  child,  that  she  will  not 
forget;  and  in  the  light  of  what  she  has  seen  this 
day,  the  little  services  and  contributions  that 
have  come  to  the  doctor,  in  honest  payment  of  a 
debt  that  is  so  hard  to  pay,  have  lost  their 
mirth-provoking  power,  and  touch  her  now  to 
a  remorseful  silence. 


THERE  comes  a  time  in  the  physician's  life 
when  he  pauses  to  take  a  retrospective  view.  He 
hns  been  sitting  quietly  at  home,  after  a  day  of 
hard  work  and  little  pay,  thinking  over  some  of 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  175 

the  hardships  ofhis  life.  1 1<>  reali/es,  all  too  well, 
that  his  youth  is  slipping  away  from  him,  and, 
with  it,  much  of  his  manly  strength  and  vigor. 
He  remembers  the  time  when  he  could  lose  two 
or  three  nights  of  sleep  in  succession,  and  still  be 
able  to  get  through  his  work  without  being  al>«>- 
lutely  tired  out.  He  cannot  do  that  now.  There 
is  so  much  of  sickness  and  suffering  and  want  in 
the  world  that  it  seems  he  must  minister  to,  with 
no  hope  of  reward, — since  his  heart  has  not  been 
made  of  stone, — and  yet,  is  it  fair  to  his  wife  and 
children  that  he  should  give  so  much  of  his  time 
and  his  strength  to  other  people"?  It  grieves  his 
kind  heart  to  think  that  the  time  may  come  when 
he  is  no  longer  here  to  help  them,  when  the  little 
property  he  has  been  able  to  accumulate  will  not 
be  sufficient  for  their  support ;  his  children  will 
not  be  educated  as  he  has  longed  to  educate  them, 
and  perhaps  the  wife  must  work  for  their  daily 
bread.  The  thought  is  agony,  and  he  vows 
within  himself  that  from  this  time  on  he  will 
work  for  his  own  family  ;  that  he  will  no  longer 
be  a  slave  to  the  beck  and  call  of  those  who  will 


176  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

not  pay  him,  nor  even  of  those  who  can  not.  No 
other  business  man  does  it,  and  he  is  going  to  quit 
it,  too. 

In  the  midst  of  his  meditations  comes  that 
ever-recurring  knock  at  the  door.  The  doctor 
goes,  a  little  impatiently,  to  open  it.  His  wife 
hears  the  conversation.  It  is  an  appealing  call 
for  him  to  go  down  into  the  country  seven  or 
eight  miles  to  see  a  very  sick  woman,  the  wife  of 
the  man  at  the  door.  The  doctor  is  strong  in  his 
new  resolution,  and  says,  sternly,  "  No,  sir  ;  I 
have  gone  down  to  your  house  often  enough 
without  getting  anything  for  it." 

The  man  outside  is  amazed  into  silence.  He 
stands  speechless  a  moment;  then  says,  "I  know 
it,  Doc.,  and  I'm  ashamed  of  it ;  but  it  ain't  her 
fault.  She's  always  done  her  part." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  her ;  but  I've  got  my  own 
family  to  work  for,  and  I  am  not  going  to  work 
for  you  any  longer  for  nothing.  If  you  have  the 
money  to  pay  me  to-night,  I  will  go." 

"  I  hain't  got  it,  Doc.,  and  I  can't  git  it  to 
night." 


TIIK    I'HYSK'IAN'S    WIKK.  11"! 

"  If  you  don't  pay  it  to-night,  yon  never  \vill 
pay  it;  so  yon  can  go  and  get  somebody  else." 

••Nobody  else  will  go,  eitber,  without  the 
money — and — she's  awful  sick,  Doc.  ;  won't  you 
go  this  time  if  I'll  promise  to  pay  you  next  week, 
sure  ? " 

"  No,  sir." 

The  door  is  closed,  the  man  goes  with  slow 
and  undecided  steps  away,  and  the  doctor  comes 
back  to  his  chair.  He  tries  to  look  unconcerned 
and  as  if  he  knew  he  had  done  the  right  thing; 
but  it  is  an  effort,  and  husband  and  wife  both 
know  it,  though  neither  of  them  speak  of  it. 
The  husband  picks  up  a  paper,  and  the  wife  at 
the  window  looks  out  into  the  moonlight  and 
thinks  of  the  poor  woman,  who  has  always  done 
her  part,  who  lies  sick  and  unattended  now  be 
cause  of  one  who  has  not  done  his  part.  She  has 
often  told  the  doctor  he  was  wearing  himself  out 
for  other  people  who  would  not  lift  a  band  to 
help  him  if  help  were  needed;  she  thinks,  of 
course,  that,  he  has  done  right  iu  refusing  to  go  ; 

and  yet — and  yet — 

la 


178  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

The  doctor  docs  not  rest  well  this  night.  It 
is  a  long:  while  before  he  yets  to  sleep.  Enrlv  in 

W  m.  V 

the  morning-,  before  day  has  fairly  dawned,  the 
wife  awakes,  to  find  him  up  and  nearly  dressed. 

"  I  guess  I'd  better  go  down  there.  I  won't 
feel  easy  till  I  do." 

And  somehow  the  wife  has  no  inclination,  in 
this  instance,  to  remind  him  that  he  is  wen  ring 
himself  out  for  nothing.  The  sick  wife  who  had 
always  done  her  part  had  lingered  in  her  thoughts, 
too,  last  night,  and  she  is  glad  of  the  doctor's 
compassion.  He  is  soon  on  his  way.  Let  us 
follow  him  in  fancy  and  drink  in  dee])  draughts 
of  the  fresh  morning  air  and  see  the  sun  rise  over 
the  hills.  How  glorious  is  early  morning  in  the 
country !  How  dark  and  cool  is  this  belt  of 
woodland,  this  remnant  of  a  "dim  old  forest " 
through  which  we  are  passing  now  !  And  how 
peaceful  and  sweet  the  dew-bathed  meadows  be 
yond  !  The  "  drowsy  tinklings  "  of  the  bells  of 
cattle  which  last  night  "  lulled  the  distant  fold  " 
are  animated  tinklinffs  now  ;  the  birds  are  sinking 

O  o        <_' 

in  an  ecstasy  of  joy,  and  all  the  world  is  waking. 


TIIE    PHYSICIAN  S    WIFE. 


179 


Surely  an  hour  and  a  scene  like  this  have  an  up 
lifting  power  upon  the  doctor's  spirit ;  for  sec  how 
rapidly  he  drives!  By  and  hy  lie  stops  before  a 
very  poor  little  house.  No  one  is  in  sight.  He 
tics  his  horse,  steps  over  the  low,  tumble-down 
rail-fence,  and  walks  up  to  the  door. 
Enter  softly,  Doctor ! 

"  There's  one  in  that  poor  shed, 
One  by  that  lowly  bed, 
Greater  than  thou  1  " 

No  one  has  sent  for  him ;  no  one  has  seen 
him  come.  But  he  is 
there.  His  compassion 
is  infinitely  greater  than 
thine,  Doctor.  You  put 
a  price  upon  your  com 
ing  last  night;  he  came 
without  money  and  with 
out  price.  If  it  were 
possible  now,  you  would 
raise  that  stricken  form 
and  set  those  feet  once  more  in  the  thorny  paths 
of  life.  He  knows  how  weary  grew  the  feet, 


180  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

and  he  will  lead  them  into  green  pastures  and 
beside  still  waters,  where  at  last  they  may  find 
rest.  Yes ;  pitying  Death  has  come  before  you, 
and  in  one  moment  more  will  claim  his  own. 
And  does  the  doctor  find  consolation  in  the 
thought,  as  many  others  might  do,  that  here  is 
one  more  weary  life  of  poverty  and  toil  and  abuse- 
ended,  and  that  it  is  better  so1?  Ah,  no;  it  was 
her  life,  and  to  it,  perhaps,  she  clung  as  tena 
ciously  as  the  queen  in  her  palace.  He  knows 
that,  whatever  others  may  think  and  feel  in 
times  like  this,  his  mission,  his  sympathies,  his 
work  must  be  on  the  side  of  life,  and  not  of 
death.  However  great  the  deliverance  death 
may  bring,  it  is  not  his  to  hasten  it,  in  an  infini 
tesimal  degree,  by  aught  that  he  may  do  or  leave 
undone.  It  is  vain  for  him  to  reason  that  his 
coming  last  night  would,  perhaps,  have  made  no 
difference.  He  had  a  chance  to  do  something 
toward  saving  this  fellow-being's  life,  and  he  did 
it  not.  He  had  a  chance,  if  not  to  save  a  life,  at 
least  to  alleviate  suffering,  and  he  did  it  not. 
His  thoughts  go  back  to  the  days  of  his  youth 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  win;. 


181 


and  curly  manhood,  when,  full  of  enthusiasm  in 
his  chosen  profession,  he  had  started  out  \vith 
his  heart  running  high  \vith  hope,  and  the  wish 
to  do  something  good  in  the  world,  and  had 
Hung  his  hanner  proudly  to  the  bree/es.  The 
advancing  years,  with  the  burdens  which  the  years 
inevitably  bring,  had  many  times  brought  that 
banner  low,  but  he  feels  that  it.  has  never  trailed 
so  utterly  in  the  dust  as  it  did  last  night.  And 
as  he  stands,  with  bowed  head,  and  looks  down 
into  the  dying  eyes,  they  seem  to  say  to  his 
remorseful  heart,  "I  was  so  sick,  and  you  visited 
me  not";  and  then,  far 
off  through  the  centuries, 
comes  a  holy  voice,  "  Inas 
much  as  ye  have  done  it 
unto  one  of  the  least  of 
these,  ye  have  done  it  unto' 
Me."  And  he  did  it  not, 

You  and  I,  reader,  have 
followed    the    doctor    only 
in  fancy  to  this  dying  bed,  yet  I  beg  to  assure 
you    this    is    no    fancy    sketch.      It    is    drawn 


182  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

from  life,  and  is,  perhaps,  only  one  of  many 
similar  instances.  Though  many  years  have 
gone  by  since  that  scene  at  early  morning,  the 
doctor  does  not  forget  it.  It  is  not  hard  to  see 
that,  in  the  presence  of  things  like  this,  the  phy 
sician's  resolutions  to  work  only  for  himself  and 
his  family  must  vanish  away,  and  that,  in  the 
future  as  in  the  past,  much  of  his  work,  his  time, 
and  his  strength  must  be  given  where  they  will 
bring  him  little  or  nothing  in  return. 

And  therefore  the  physician's  wife,  ponder 
ing  these  things  in  her  heart, — thinking  of 
the  countless  deeds  of  kindness  and  mercy  he 
has  been  doing  through  all  these  years  in  the 
name  of  charity,  sweet  charity, — thinks  within 
herself  that  if,  in  a  better  world  than  this,  there 
is  a  crown  a  little  more  radiant  than  all  the  rest, 
surely  it  must  be  waiting  for  the  physician's 
brow. 

We,  their  wives,  cannot  do  the  good  in  the 
world  that  our  husbands  have  it  in  their  power 
to  do.  Our  sphere  is  circumscribed ;  and  so  our 
real  usefulness  to  those  around  us,  as  compared 


TIIH  PHYSICIAN'S  \VIFK. 

with  theirs,  may  be  likened.  perhaps,  as  shadow 
unto  form.  But  it  is  good  to  know  that  shadows. 
too,  have  had  their  mission  in  the  world.  The 
wounded  and  dying1  soldiers  in  that  Crimean 
hospital,  who  turned  upon  their  beds  to  kiss  the 
shadow  of  saintly  Florence  Nightingale  as  it  fell 
upon  them,  have  told  us  that.  To  them  it  was 
a  holy  shadow. 

Then1  is  an  old  French  legend  which,  be- 
<  an^e  it  contains  a  lesson  for  us  all,  I  will  give, 
in  part : — 

A  long  time  ago  there  lived  a  saint  so  good 
that  the  angels,  astonished  at  his  holiness,  came 
expressly  from  heaven  to  see  how  any  one  on 
earth  could  so  closely  resemble  the  good  God. 
Two  words  summed  up  his  day.  lie  //errand 
forgave,  but  these  words  were  never  on  his  lips; 
you  read  them  in  his  smile,  in  his  amiability,  in 
his  courtesy,  in  his  untiring  charity.  The  angels 
said  to  God,  "  Lord,  grant  him  the  gift  of  mira 
cle."  "Willingly,"  replied  the  good  God.  "Ask 
him  what  he  wishes."  But  the  saint  wished  for 
nothing.  In  reply  to  all  their  questions  as  to 


181  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

whether  he  would  choose  this  gift  or  that,  he 
only  answered  "  No."  The  angels  insisted,  say 
ing,  "  Nevertheless,  you  must  ask  a  miracle." 
Then,  said  the  saint,  "  Let  me  do  a  great  deal 
of  good  in  the  world  without  ever  know 
ing  it." 

The  angels  consulted  together  for  some 
time  how  this  could  be  accomplished;  then  they 
asked  the  good  God  to  grant  that  every  time 
the  saint's  shadow  fell  at  cither  side  or  behind 
him  so  that  he  could  not  see  it  it  should  have 
the  power  of  healing  the  sick,  consoling  the 
afflicted,  and  comforting  the  sorrowful.  Our 
Lord  assented.  And  wherever  the  saint's 
shadow  fell  thus  the  pathways  bloomed,  the 
turbid  streams  became  pure  and  limpid,  a  fresh 
bloom  came  to  the  cheeks  of  little  children, 
and  tears  of  joy  to  the  eyes  of  sorrowing 
mothers. 

But  the  saint  kept  simply  on  his  way,  un 
consciously  spreading  the  example  of  his  virtues 
as  the  stars  shed  light,  as  the  flowers  give  per 
fume. 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE.  185 

And  the  people,  respecting  his  modesty,  fol 
lowed  him  in  silence,  never  speaking  to  him 
of  liis  miracles.  They  gradually  forgot  even 
his  name,  and  simply  called  him  "  The  Holy 
Shadow." 

It  is  thus  that  we  may  work.  Quietly,  un 
ostentatiously,  carrying  with  us  into  the  sick 
room,  or  anywhere  else,  the  cheerful  heart, 
which  wise  old  Solomon  has  told  us  doeth  good 
like  a  medicine.  Speaking  the  word,  as  occa 
sion  may  sometimes  present,  which,  fitly  spoken, 
is  like  apples  of  gold  in  pictures  of  silver.  The 
time  has  never  come  to  me  when  a  word  of 
honest  appreciation  or  regard  has  not  touched  an 
answering  chord. 

Be  assured  it  does  not  come  to  others  either, 
and  withhold  nothing  of  happiness  it  is  in  your 
power  to  hcstow. 

We  shall  reali/e,  of  course,  as  the  years  go 
by,  that  we  cannot  do  all  that  we  might  wish 
to  do ;  cannot  have  all  that  we  most  wish  to 
have ;  for  wishing  and  having  have  evermore 
been  widelv  sundered;  but.  like  the  saint  of  the 


186  THE  PHYSICIAN'S  WIFE. 

leg-end,  if  we    keep   simply  on   our  way,  doing 
the  little  that  we  may  in  this  world, — 

"  It  may  be,  when  all  is  done, 
We  shall  be  together  in  sonic  good  world, 
Where  to  wish  and  to  have  are  one." 


Recently  Issued. 


Consumption:  *   * 

How  TO  PREVENT  IT  AND 
How  TO  LIVE  WITH  IT. 

ITS  NATURE,  CAUSES,  PREVENTION,  AND  THE  MODE  OF  LIFE, 

CLIMATE,  EXERCISE,  FOOD,  AND  CLOTHING 

NECESSARY  FOR  ITS  CURE. 


N.  S.  DAVIS,  Jf.,  A.JVI.,  JVI.D., 

1'HOt  KSSOK     OK     i'ltlXClPI.KS     .AMI     I'K.UTICK     Of     MMIICI.NK.    fllir.U.O     MKDICAL    COLLEGE; 

PHTSICIAN  TO  MEUCV  HOSPITAL,  CHICAGO;  MKMBKR  OK  THE  AMERICAN 
MKDICAL  ASSOCIATION,  ETC.,  ETC. 


THIS  is  a  plain,  practical  treatise,  thoroughly  readable  and  scien 
tifically  accurate;  written  by  one  of  the  best-qualified  physi 
cians  in  the  United  States.      The  most-reliable  information  is 
uivcn  in  tliis  volume  respecting  the  Prevention  of  Consump 
tion,  Hy»'iene  for  Consumptives,  timely  suggestions  concerning  the 
different  climates  and  the  important  part  they  play  in  the  treatment  of 
this  disease,  etc.,  etc.,  all  presented  in  such  a  succinct  and  intelligible 
style  as  to  make  the  perusal  of  the  book  a  pleasant  pastime.      Many 
thousands,  more  or  less  affected  by  this  fearful  scourge,  would  be  truly 
benefited  by  enforcing  the  principles  and  methods  outlined  and  largely 
elaborated  in  this  handy  volume. 

In  one  neat  12mo  volume  of  143  pages.  Handsomely 
I  :<  i  ii  ii  (I  in  Kxtru  (Moth,  with  Rack  ami  Side  Stamps 
in  Gold.  Price,  pOHt-puid,  75  cents  net. 


THE  F.  A.  DAVIS  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

1914  AND  1916  CHERRY  STREET, 
PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


SIXTH  THOUSAND  NOW  READY. 

'  CHILDHOOD. 

MAIDENHOOD. 


ol- 


A 


WIFEHOOD. 

MOTHERHOOD. 


DAUGHTER: 

Her  Health,  Education,  and 


By  'WILLIAM  M.  CAPP,  M.D.,  Philadelphia. 


IT    is  thoughtful   and    suggestive  on,  subjects  affecting    woman's 
highest  interests  in  domestic  life,  and  in  style  is  dignified  and 
earnest,  refined  and  modest.    Health,  education,  sexual  develop 
ment,    courtship,   betrothal,   marriage,    maternity,    and   related 
subjects  are  comprehensively  treated  in  a  manner  which  charms  by  its 
delicacy  and  higli  moral  tone.     It  does  not  pander  to  corrupt  tastes  or 
prurient  curiosity,  as  works  on  these  themes  too  often  do.      It  teaches 
what  every  mother  should  know  and  impart,  to  her  daughter.      It  is  a 
book  for  physicians  to  recommend  to  lady  patients,  and  should  be  at 
hand  for  reference  in  eveiy  family  and  school.    BEAUTIFULLY  PRINTED 
IN  LARGE,  CLEAR  TYPE.    12MO.     150  PAGES.    NEATLY  BOUND  IN 
EXTRA  CLOTH. 

Price,  post-paid,  $1.00  net.      Also  bound  in  Paper  Covers 
(unabridged),  5O  cents  net. 


Rji  ATTJ?HCTIVE   HflD   UsEpUl* 

Few  books  have  ever  been  so  UNANIMOUSLY  recommended  by 
the  literary,  religious,  and  scientific  press,  and  physicians  of  eminence 
everywhere.  Send  for  circular  giving  reviews  and  criticisms. 


THE   F.  A.   DAVIS   COMPANY,   PUBLISHERS, 

1914  AND  1916  CHERRY  ST.,   PHILA..  PA. 


DATE  DUE 


1 


1  1977 


°°0  501  382 


WZ305          Firebaugh,   Ellen  M 

F523p  The  physician's  wife   and  the  things   that 

189^  pertain  to  her  life. 


MEDICAL  SCIENCES  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  IRVIN: 


